Towers
by lamadeliadalai
Summary: New York is a hard city. Especially if you live on the streets and play music in the park for pennies like Blaine. But all that will change when he meets Kurt and their worlds collide.
1. Prologue

**Prologue **

Kurt can't breathe. Lying on the rippled hardwood, surrounded by pieces of shredded canvas, Kurt can't breathe. He reaches for it with his long lean limbs. He stretches across the floor, pushing debris; wood, paint, glass. Even with the tips of his fingers extended as far as they can reach, he doesn't find it. It's the feeling of being trapped under the air mattress in the pool, with someone sitting on top of it. Pushing, stretching, aching, desperate. But there's no way to the surface.

It's been two days since it happened, and he still can't find any air. He listlessly pulls himself up off the floor and in an attempt to alleviate the growing pressure in his chest he turns on the TV. One of the pieces of broken glass impales the soft underside of his foot as he stands, but he takes no notice; his body has attention only for the images on the screen.

He knows the news coverage won't help him, in fact he can feel it strangling him a little more. What would really do him good would be some food, or a shower. He can feel the two day old sweat still pooled underneath his arms. But he continues to watch the blood on the screen. The endless stream of commentary, the conspiracy theories, the bodies. The dark skin, the light skin, the panic; the claustrophobia filling up the city around him, leaking the toxic stench of paranoia throughout the country.

Kurt studies the bodies on the screen, feeling strangely disconnected from them. He doesn't see them, not really; he's looking only for one. He thinks of getting on the subway, going somewhere far away. He imagines that maybe, somewhere else in the city it would be easier to breathe. He discards the idea when he realizes the subways probably aren't running anymore.

He moves towards the kitchen, ignoring the glass that's burrowing deeper into his foot, and pours himself a cup of cold coffee. His body realizes his mistake before his brain does.

He vomits. The smell is an emetic, forcing the contents of his stomach onto the floor. All of a sudden he's choking; the lack of air in his lungs overtakes him and he falls to the floor hard . As he tucks his head between his knees and tries to breathe, he hears strains of the commentary continue from the television set in the next room.

"_A day of great loss for our country..."_

"_A devastating blow to the liberty, our America holds so dear..."_

"_The loss of life...too catastrophic..."_

He feels a bitter stab of pain as he listens to the entire country mourn the loss of life and liberty, but not a single person mentions what he will mourn most. What was perhaps the greatest of unalienable American rights:

The pursuit of happiness.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1  
><strong>

**So here's chapter 1! Hope you guys enjoy it...you'll get to meet Blaine!**

* * *

><p>Even the pigeons liked him. That's what had drawn Kurt's attention. Without the pigeons, the short man with the wild hair would have been just another busker in Central Park; just another cad with a guitar. But the pigeons gathered around him, like they were interested, like he held their attention. People gathered around him too, as if his Beatles renditions were something more than just cheesy covers. So Kurt sat down at the bench across from where he played, perched on a stone garden ledge. He sat and pulled out his sketch pad, fully intending to draw the giant oak across the path. It was autumn in New York, and what kind of artist would he be if he didn't take advantage of the audacious colouring of every living thing in the city? He breathed in deeply, enjoying the chance to draw something other than the dresses and blazers that his job required.<p>

However, his hands balked at his attempts to sketch the giant oak and took their own path. They sketched the dark curls, the agile hands on the neck of the guitar, the hazel eyes, the broad grin that seemed to take over his entire face. They sketched the slim fit jeans that clung to the curve of his hip, the leather of his belt that sat just below the sliver of skin revealed by his pushed up t-shirt. Kurt was lost to his hands, the kind of loss of control he only indulged in every so often. It was rare, and it was addictive. The autonomy of his hands from his brain was too blissful, and he often had trouble pulling himself back. He was afraid if he did it too often, he'd get stuck. But on that day he indulged himself.

"Can I see?"

Kurt startled at looked up, surprised to see the subject of his sketch standing in front of him.

"Oh no. This boring old stuff? Leaves, uh, grass, trees, it's really just doodles. Nothing special." Kurt managed to run his mouth while trying to be casual.

Kurt was surprised when he sat down beside him on the bench and snatched the sketchpad before he could react.

"Wait, don't..." he faltered as he realized it was too late. Kurt's face burned with embarrassment. Now this guy was going to think he was a huge stalker. An incredibly talented stalker, but still, a stalker.

Kurt watched as his eyes flitted across the almost complete drawing; he was smiling.

"Take me out to dinner." The busker grinned at Kurt, his eyes shining with mischief.

"What?" Kurt was dumbfounded.

"Well, I posed for your art, now I think the least you can do to pay me back is take me out to dinner."

Kurt wrinkled his brow in confusion. Was he hitting on him?

"You um..." It was the busker's turn to blush now, "_Accentuated_ my crotch a little more than was probably strictly necessary."

_Fucking autonomous artists hands_ Kurt thought.

Looking at the drawing again he noticed that the bulge in the front his skinny jeans was more pronounced than what was probably socially acceptable.

Kurt blushed as he let his eyes wander over the man beside him. Apparently his hands had taken note of how deeply attractive he was before his brain had.

"Come on, I promise I'm not high maintenance. Any old greasy spoon with a decent milkshake will do." The busker said as he stood up, extending his hand to Kurt.

Kurt smiled warily, "Hold up there Don Juan, how about a name?"

Smacking his hand to his forehead, he replied "Blaine."

"Kurt." he said, ignoring Blaine's extended hand and getting up off the bench.

"Kurt." Blaine rolled the name over his tongue, testing it out. "Well, shall we Kurt?"

Kurt surprised himself when he said,

"Fuck it. Why not?" He stashed his sketchpad in his satchel and started walking out of the park, leaving Blaine to follow him.

"So do you do this a lot? Seduce men with your sultry serenades in the park and then demand they take you out?" Kurt said, shooting Blaine a cheeky smile.

"Do _you_ do this a lot? Spend your afternoon studying strange men's jeans and sketching their packages?" Blaine replied.

Kurt winced and threw his hands up in defeat, "Touché."

"So mysterious artist in the park, where are you from?" Blaine inquired as he adjusted his guitar case on his back.

"Ohio. Lima, precisely."

Blaine raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, it's microscopic, not to mention archaic, I don't expect you to know where it is." Kurt replied, taking his expression for confusion.

"I do know it actually. I'm from Westerville."

Kurt was taken aback. Westerville was maybe a 30 minute drive from Lima.

"No way. Where did you go to school?" he asked.

"Dalton Academy. I was a proud Warbler." Blaine said.

"You were _not_ in glee club." Kurt stopped dead in his tracks.

"You know the Warblers?" Blaine was laughing now.

"McKinley High New Directions. We totally faced off at regionals one year."

"Wow. This is so weird. So I guess we've probably seen each other before and we just don't remember?"

"Strange." Kurt agreed.

"Now I want to hear you sing."

"Oh god, no."

"Come on, it's unfair. You've heard me sing."

"Yes well, you were standing in the middle of Central Park with a guitar, it's not like you were being shy about it."

"I think you're probably really good," Blaine added shyly.

"Well of course I am. But I don't sing on the first date," Kurt winked at him.

Blaine laughed and Kurt realized he was enjoying himself. He shuddered to think what his father would say, if he could see him going out with a strange man he met in the city. It was exactly the kind of thing Burt had always warned him not to do. Somehow, Kurt couldn't find the will to be afraid. Blaine's eyes were too kind.

"Oh no. When hell freezes over," Blaine yanked the arm of Kurt's coat away from the door of Starbucks as he reached for the handle.

"Excuse me?" Kurt raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "This is a Calvin Klein jacket and what do you have against Starbucks?" he asked Blaine, who was determinedly marching past the glass door.

"If you spent 9 hours a day in there serving overly frothed syrupy drinks to a bunch of rude yuppies, you wouldn't want to spend another second there either."

Kurt laughed, that certainly wasn't the answer he'd expected. "You're a barista?"

"Hey it pays the bills okay."

Kurt raised his hands in defeat, letting go of the door handle to Starbucks.

"Besides, I know a place where you can get a cup of coffee that is _actually_ good. Not any of that fake Colombian garbage. And it just so happens I can satisfy this mad craving for a milkshake at the same time."

Kurt snorted. "A milkshake? You are a five year old."

"Five and a half" Blaine stuck his tongue out at Kurt, grinning.

The pair ended up in a rundown looking diner on West 104th St, looking out at the park.

They sipped their drinks in silence for a while and Kurt tugged nervously at his collar.

Blaine was the one that broke the silence. "Beatles or Elton John?"

Startled, Kurt was at a loss for words. "Um...what?"

"Just choose."

"Elton."

"Really? I mean I know we're gay but _really_?" Blaine admonished.

"Next question." Said Kurt.

"Waffles or pancakes?"

"Are you planning for breakfast in bed already? That's bold of you." Kurt twisted his coffee cup in his hands and smirked at Blaine.

Blaine blushed furiously for a moment before gathering himself.

"Just answer the question."

"Crepes."

"See now you're just breaking the rules."

"Oh so there are rules now?"

"Indeed" said Blaine.

"New York or Ohio?" he asked.

They both laughed as soon as the question had left Blaine's lips.

"As much as I miss glee club and my high school friends, nothing in the world could make me go back."

"Me neither, I ran the fuck out of there." Blaine added.

Kurt chuckled, and then he noticed the stoic expression on Blaine's face.

"Oh...you...you actually ran away from home?"

Blaine sighed. "Let's just say my parents weren't the most...accepting."

"Of you being gay?" Kurt asked, his tone gentle.

"Of anything." Blaine laughed. "I was a gay boy who wanted to be a musician and live in New York and not go to one of their pre-approved law schools. I was the exact opposite of anything they wanted in a son."

Kurt felt sympathy welling up his chest for Blaine. He knew there were parents like that out there, he just thanked god he hadn't had them. Before he could press any further, Blaine resumed the game.

"Red or white wine?"

"Red."

"I'm tucking that away for later." Blaine noted before asking, "Rent or Wicked?"

"Blaine Anderson, I think that is more of a third date kind of question." Kurt fixed him with a serious stare.

"I'd say Rent." Blaine replied, answering his own question.

"Of course you would."

"Hey what does that mean?" he asked, feigning offense.

"Blaine, you're a gay busker who lives in New York, you wear faded denim and you carry your guitar around on your back." Kurt ticked off on his fingers. "You'd fit right in. I can practically hear you singing "La Vie Boheme"".

"I think I'm flattered..." Blaine laughed. "Next question: Top or bottom?"

Kurt reached across the table and swatted Blaine over the head.

"Hey ow! Okay, okay I was just kidding!" Blaine attempted to defend himself from Kurt's wrath but he was laughing too hard for his attempts to be effective.

"You just think you're _so_ clever and charming don't you? But in reality, you're a...a...a scallywag." Kurt said.

"A...did you just call me a scallywag?" Blaine doubled over in laughter again.

Kurt fixed him with a stern glare, though he was also having trouble keeping a straight face.

"You are a five year old!" he scolded, trying to keep his laughter at bay.

Still consumed by giggles, Blaine managed to choke out,

"Five and a half."

* * *

><p>"We are not tourists."<p>

"Shhhh." Blaine cooed as he offered Kurt a hand into the boat.

Glaring uncertainly at the tiny green and white rowboat as if it might tip over at any second, Kurt took Blaine's hand and settled into the seat opposite Blaine, who sat with the oars in hand.

"I can't believe this is your idea of an original date. As a New Yorker, I am ashamed to be seen doing something so utterly touristy."

"Hey," Blaine began as he rowed away from the shore, "don't judge quite yet. We are going to give this "utterly touristy" activity a real New Yorker twist."

With a smug grin, Blaine produced a bottle of cheap red wine from underneath his coat.

Kurt clapped his hand to his mouth and laughed.

"I told you I was tucking that info away for later." Blaine said.

"Do you really think that's very safe? Getting drunk in the middle of the lake? In an extremely unsteady boat?" Kurt asked.

Blaine shrugged as he unscrewed the top of the bottle. Grinning at Kurt, he replied,

"I guess we're going to find out."

Kurt felt his carefully arranged expression of disdain slipping from his face as he watched Blaine row them farther out onto the lake.

He'd never actually rented one of the Central Park rowboats before and although he never would have admitted to Blaine that he was actually enjoying his cheesy date idea, he really liked it.

As they alternated sipping from the bottle, Kurt found his eyes slipping more and more often towards Blaine's rolled up sleeves and the outline of his shoulders as he rowed. It was hard not to watch.

"What are you thinking about?" Blaine asked after Kurt had been silent for a while.

_Your body_

"I would really love to paint this. The colours are incredible." Kurt supplied instead, gesturing towards the orange and red leaves that looked like they'd been set ablaze by the light of the sinking sun.

"You paint? I thought you just did sketches, for work and stuff?" Blaine inquired.

"I do mostly. I really like to paint; I just never have time for it. Or a purpose. I have this huge piece of canvas and all these expensive oil paints back at my apartment that I haven't got around to even touching."

"That's sad." Blaine replied softly.

Kurt hadn't expected that response and he wondered if the alcohol was lowering Blaine's inhibitions already.

"Sad?" Kurt replied, taking the bottle from him and taking an extra long swig.

Blaine stopped rowing, and let the boat drift. The lake was empty at the time of night anyway.

"Yeah. If you love something, you have to make time to do it. It's all that matters."

"Like your music?"

"Like my music."

"Not all of us have hours of free time to spend charming tourists in the park."

Blaine laughed.

"All I'm saying is you should paint. Do what makes you happy." He said with sincerity.

"Oh boy, you must be drunk, you're starting to get all sappy on me."

"Mmmmmm." Blaine just hummed happily.

"Blaine, steer us away from that rock. Blaine! Oh god, I feel like we're on the Titanic." Kurt flailed his arms in the direction of a boulder protruding from the water in panic.

Blaine giggled at this and steered them clear of the rock. "You are such a drama queen."

Surprising Kurt, Blaine slid unsteadily off the bench of the rowboat and landed in the bottom of the boat.

"What are you doing?" Kurt giggled, feeling the wine making its way to his head.

"Lying in the bottom of the boat." Blaine pronounced, taking another swig from the almost empty bottle and laying flat on his back.

"Insane." Kurt muttered under his breath, while carefully positioning himself beside Blaine as the boat swayed threateningly.

"Mmmm you smell like coffee." Kurt mumbled quietly.

Blaine chuckled, daring to put an arm around Kurt. "That's what happens when you work at Starbucks. It never goes away."

Kurt felt warmth spreading across his back where Blaine's hand rested. He wasn't sure whether the warm fuzzy feeling that was filling him up was due to their close contact, or the red wine that he had probably drank too much of.

"Kurt, look at the stars." Blaine motioned, slurring his words together slightly.

"They're pretty. Just like you."

Kurt slapped his hand over his mouth as he realized what he'd said. He expected Blaine to laugh but he didn't. Instead, he turned his face towards Kurt's and let his gaze wander over Kurt's face. Their closeness was overwhelming, Kurt thought, lying in the bottom of a boat. They were hidden from the world, and Kurt felt warm all over again.

"Hey Kurt," Blaine began, suddenly sounding more sober than he had all night.

"Remember the game we played in the diner, the other day?"

"I do."

"Can we play again?"

"Hit me, Anderson."

Blaine shifted minutely, closer against Kurt's side.

Kurt drew in a deep breath unintentionally.

"Money or happiness?"

"Oh noooo" Kurt slurred. "You're one of those philosophical drunks aren't you? C'mon goofball, don't go all thoughtful on me now."

Blaine just smiled sleepily and waited.

"Happiness of course."

"Cat or dog?"

"Cat."

"Michael Jackson or Elvis?"

"Michael."

"Lips or cheek?"

"Lips."

Before Kurt even realized what he had answered, Blaine's lips were on his, firm and insistent.

Kurt's body responded before his wine-sluggish mind did. He pushed his lips back against Blaine's, revelling in the heat and the tenderness of the moment. His hands instantly flew to Blaine's curls, where they intertwined themselves as they continued kissing.

Blaine pulled away for a moment, looking sweetly into Kurt's eyes. Kurt felt the alcohol taking control of his actions as he rolled towards Blaine and kissed him again, less tentatively and with more vigour.

Blaine reacted, moving towards Kurt and the combined force of their movements sent the boat rocking. Both parties ignored the threatening swaying as they became completely preoccupied with each other's lips.

Suddenly, Blaine shifted sharply in an attempt to get a better angle and before either of them realized what was happening, they were in the lake.

Spluttering as he came up for air, Kurt called over to Blaine,

"I hope you can swim Anderson because I am not rescuing you!"

* * *

><p>Blaine shivered as he watched Kurt walk up the steps to his apartment.<p>

He'd walked Kurt home, both still dripping wet, and after kissing him goodnight, sweetly and chastely, Blaine was left outside in the cold October air.

He rubbed his hands together, trying to fight off the chill as he started back towards the park.

He tucked his knees into his chest as he huddled up inside one of the many gazebos in the park.

Closing his eyes, he remembered the sweet taste of Kurt's lips, and tried to will away the cold.

It was no use.

He had started shaking. His soaking clothes weren't allowing his body to retain any heat in the cold autumn night air.

Sighing heavily, he got up from the bench and headed downtown.

After walking for twenty minutes, shivering viciously the entire time, he was standing outside a building with an old sign that read, "Good Shepherd's Shelter for Men".

He hesitated, struggling with the instinct to flee.

He didn't want to go inside; he knew it would trigger a torrent of bad memories.

He knew he would see faces he never wanted to see again.

But a cold gust of air that tore through his thin, wet coat pushed him through the doors into the shelter.

He walked down the familiar hallway towards the dormitory, where the rows upon rows of uniform beds filled the entire room.

The smell of onions and bleach assaulted his nostrils as he scanned the room. It was full of men milling about, as always. Blaine kept his head low as he searched the room for one particular person; wanting to see but not be seen.

"Ray!" he called out when he saw the man he was looking for perched on the edge of one of the thin beds.

Looking up, the old man smiled a near toothless smile at Blaine.

"Youngin'! I was wondering if you'd turn up tonight. It's getting pretty cold out there."

Blaine sighed heavily, peeling off his wet jacket. "I was planning on spending the night in the park but...I was a little bit damp..." he gestured to his wet ensemble.

Ray chuckled and stroked his long patchy white beard. "I'll say. What kinda trouble were you getting up to?"

Blaine smiled as he remembered his night with Kurt.

"The good kind of course."

Ray stretched out on the tiny bed on his back, still wrapped in his layers of flannel shirts. "Ah, I remember the days when I used to get into the good kind of trouble." Ray glanced over at Blaine when he didn't respond. He was looking nervously around the room.

"Hey kid. Rest your eyes. You look beat. I'll watch your back." Ray whispered to Blaine.

Blaine rubbed his face in his hands. He _was_ exhausted- but he didn't think he would be able to relax here. For a second, he wished he had stayed to freeze in the park.

"You know I can't sleep here Ray."

"He's not here tonight kid. I looked."

Blaine twisted his hands together uneasily, trying to stave off the rising anxiety in his chest.

"It doesn't matter. I see him in all of them." He gestured around the room to the other men.

Ray flipped over on his side and talked as quietly as he could in his southern drawl.

"Look Blaine, Nathan was a mean shit and a hell of a terrible boyfriend. But you left him. He ain't got no power over you anymore."

Blaine shifted in his bunk, giving Ray a weak smile. Ray was a good friend, but he would never understand. It wasn't just Nathan he was afraid of. It was the memories. They haunted him everywhere he went.

Trying to take Ray's advice and rest his eyes, Blaine lay down on the bed. Comforted by the fact that Ray was close by, he tried to ignore the steady stream of men walking by the bed to find their own place to rest their heads.

He tried to focus on Kurt. Kurt's eyes, his laugh, his hands, his touch, his lips.

He eventually drifted off for a short while, shifting uncomfortably in and out of sleep. He was jarred from his doze by a deep voice in his ear in the dark hours later.

"Hey baby boy." A man was perched on the end of his bed with a hand on his leg.

Blaine started and had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from yelping. It was an unfamiliar face but an all too familiar line.

"Get away from me." He growled angrily.

"Hey easy there, sweet thing." The strange man tried to placate him.

Blaine guessed the noise caused enough of a disturbance to wake up Ray in the bed next to him, because as he turned from the room and started to run he could hear Ray calling his name.

"Blaine wait! Blaine!"

Blaine kept running, letting the pounding in his ears drown out his voice.

He burst through the doors of the shelter, his chest burning as he gasped for air.

The cold air and darkness hit him hard, but he kept running. He ran and ran until he reached the park, where he collapsed in a heap in the grass.

Lying on his back in the freezing cold grass, Blaine tried to catch his breath. His head swirled with memories and he felt his eyes well up with unshed tears. He pushed them down as best he could as his breathing began to slow. The claustrophobia he had experienced in the shelter began to fade away and he told himself he would not break down.

He stared up at the night sky, listening to the sound of his own breaths and made a decision.

He would rather freeze out here than go back there.

* * *

><p><strong>Ta-da! If you liked it, please drop a review :)<br>**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
><strong>

**So here's the second chapter. Just a little bit of character development for both Kurt and Blaine, and a few more dates :)**

* * *

><p>"Kuuuuuuuurt. Hurry up, I need caffeine <em>now." <em>Rachel called from where she was hanging upside down off the edge of Kurt's sofa.

"One second Rachel. Geez, I didn't think anyone could be more impatient about getting their caffeine fix than me." He called from the bathroom where he was fixing his hair.

"Your hair looks fabulous already. We're not going to a Starbucks so you're not going to see your special friend; stop fussing."

Kurt stuck his head out from the bathroom and glared at Rachel. "I do _not_need a reason to look good."

Rachel pushed her long hair out of her face to grin at Kurt mischievously.

"And don't call him my special friend. That makes it sound like I'm either his babysitter or his sugar daddy." He added as he ducked back into the bathroom.

"So exactly how good a singer are we talking here?" Rachel inquired with the ever present note of competitiveness in her voice.

"Well, I've only heard him sing a few songs, and the park doesn't exactly make for the best acoustics, but he is really, really good Rach. Like good enough that even you would think he was good."

Kurt emerged from the bathroom and started to pull on his coat. Excited that they were finally going to get their coffee, Rachel sprung up off the couch.

"His range seems pretty decent, but it's more than that you know? He just has so much depth and emotion is his voice. Remember how I told you about how many people stand around and just gape at him while he sings? It's like this crazy magnetism."

"Are you sure that's not just your own sexual attraction you're feeling?" Rachel nudged Kurt playfully.

He rolled his eyes. Rachel trying to make sexual innuendos was always terrifying.

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response. Now let's go, I have to be at work in 2 hours for a consultation with Julius."

"Oh god, you still work for that awful man?" Rachel scrunched her nose up in distaste.

"Julius is a visionary when it comes to fashion Rachel, and he happens to run the most successful design firm in New York City. And yes, he is an ungrateful slave-driver, but my salary pays for this." He gestured grandly to his spacious apartment.

"Upper West Side, Rach."

She held her hands up in defeat. "Point taken. Now let's get out of here before I literally keel over and die from coffee deprivation. I was at the theatre till 2 last night trying to teach my incorrigible male lead the choreography for "I Could Have Danced All Night".

Kurt smirked. Rachel's tales of her trials starring in an off Broadway revival of "My Fair Lady" were always amusing. The Professor Higgins to her Eliza Doolittle had _more _than two left feet and Rachel never let him forget it.

Kurt picked up her oversized purse to hand to her and noticed it was unusually heavy. Glancing inside, he retrieved the offending heavy object and turned to Rachel.

"Rachel Berry, why do you have a pair of binoculars in your purse?" he raised his eyebrow at her while he waited for a response.

"I think the real question is," she said as she snatched the purse and binoculars out of his hands, "why are you going through my purse?"

"Avoiding the questionnn" Kurt replied in a sing-song voice.

"Well, I have to walk through the park on my way home and I thought maybe I might be able to see your busker friend..."

"Oh. My. God. You brought a pair of binoculars so you could stalk Blaine?"

Kurt rubbed his temples as they exited the apartment and headed outside.

"You...I...thought you left most of your insanity in high school. I should have known."

Rachel shrugged as she tucked the binoculars back in her purse. "If he's as cute as you say..."

Kurt couldn't help but blush as his mind went to their date in the boat a few days ago. He remembered the outline of Blaine's arms through his shirt as he rowed and the passionate kissing that had gotten them dumped into the lake.

"Rachel, it's not bird watching!"

Rachel opened her mouth to respond but Kurt cut her off before she could make a sound.

"I swear to god, if you make a peacock joke I will personally ensure that Professor Higgins is cast opposite you in every single production you ever star in for the rest of your life."

Rachel crossed her arms across her chest and huffed at him.

Kurt laughed, "Don't make that face, you'll give yourself wrinkles. Come on, I'll buy your coffee and tell you all about how Blaine and I took a drunken swim."

Rachel looked considerably cheered by this proposition and the two chatted amiably as they headed for their favourite cafe on 81st Street.

After finishing his coffee and flattening the crease on the front of his blue button down, Kurt stood and he and Rachel headed down to the 81st St subway station.

"...and in the moment, I didn't care at all, because I was too wine drunk and Blaine looked like an adorable drowned puppy. But Rachel, I swear to god, as soon as I got home, I contemplated taking a bath in the bleach because, the Central Park lake, can you imagine how filthy that water is?"

Kurt shivered as they entered the underground, remembering the weird smelling water. He smiled as he saw the familiar mosaic tile designs on the wall. He always loved the 81st St station, with the colourful mosaic tiled animals on the wall and the constant stream of chattering children exiting from the Museum of Nature.

He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but Kurt loved the subway. He loved the flow of people constantly moving their way through the city, the rattle and sway of the subway cars that always soothed him, and he loved the musicians who made their way underground for the tips. Sure, it had its unpleasant elements, but most of the time, in the underground was where Kurt felt closest to the heartbeat of the city.

He and Rachel were both headed downtown for work and as they made their way onto the platform, Kurt dropped his briefcase in surprise.

There were two men playing music for the crowd; the first a man with a long grey beard and a ruddy face. He was dressed in patched cargo pants and layers of flannel. He wielded an old harmonica and wailed on it as the duo made their way through an upbeat rendition of "Mack the Knife".

The other man was Blaine.

Kurt ducked his head so that Blaine wouldn't notice him. He grabbed the back of Rachel's coat and dragged her back towards him.

"Pst-Rach. That's him."

"Who, Santa Clause? Because that guy with the beard looks a lot like-"

"Let the bird watching begin."

"Blaine?" she squeaked excitedly and a little too loudly for Kurt's taste.

"Yes, shhh. He's going to hear you!" he whispered furtively.

"What are the chances of running into him again in New York? Kurt, it's fate!" she bounced a little.

Kurt snorted and turned back to watch Blaine perform.

Rachel and Kurt watched as the crowd grew around Blaine and the bearded man. The pair played enthusiastically, Blaine grinning and swinging to the music, nodding appreciatively every time someone stepped forward to drop coins into his open guitar case. Kurt loved the way Blaine's voice wrapped around each word, growling in just the right places. He was further impressed by Blaine's ability to scat with ease.

As he entered the final verse, Kurt and Blaine's eyes met for a moment, causing Blaine to stumble over a chord. He quickly recovered and his smile grew even broader. He continued to look at Kurt as he sang.

_On the sidewalk, one Sunday mornin'_

_Lies a body oozin' life_

_Someone's sneaking 'round the corner_

_Could that someone, perhaps, perchance, be Mack the Knife?_

Kurt smiled back, and found himself humming along to the familiar tune. Rachel nudged him enthusiastically, breaking their eye contact.

"He's amazing. And so cute!"

"I think I need to get him a new shirt. He is too attached to that plaid and faded denim look."

Rachel waved her hand dismissively, "He has gorgeous eyes."

"Hey, back off." Kurt teased.

As they finished the tune, a few people who hadn't yet caught their train applauded and whooped.

Kurt and Rachel applauded the most enthusiastically. When most of the people had cleared out, they made their way over to Blaine.

"Hey!" he said rather breathlessly.

"Hey yourself."

"So you're stalking me eh? I must have made a really good impression by dumping you in the lake." Blaine smiled cheekily as he put his guitar back in its case.

Kurt cringed inwardly. _Thank god he doesn't know about the binoculars in Rachel's purse_

"Oh, Blaine, this is my friend Rachel. We were just heading downtown."

"Hi Blaine. Nice to meet you!" she chirped.

Blaine shook her hand warmly and turned to the harmonica player.

"And this is my friend Ray. Ray, this is Kurt."

The grizzled old man offered Kurt a grungy hand, and while Kurt was a bit of a germaphobe, he never let it overrule his manners so he shook it with a smile.

"How ya doin' feller? Now I can see why Blaine's always talkin' bout you" Ray drawled with a wink.

Blaine dropped his face into his hands in embarrassment.

Kurt laughed and Rachel excused herself to get to rehearsal. "It was nice meeting you Blaine! I hope I see you again soon!" she called as she moved towards the train.

"Great to meet you too, Rachel."

"Here I was, thinking you only played in the park." Kurt said to Blaine.

"Ah, shhhh. Technically, I only have a permit for the park but I kind of play all over the city. Don't call the cops on me." Blaine whispered conspiratorially.

"Mmm I don't know. Orange might be your colour."

Blaine wrinkled his nose in disagreement as he slung his guitar case over his shoulder.

Kurt glanced at his watch before realizing he was going to be late for his meeting with Julius. That would be a very bad move on his part.

"Shit, I've got to run. If I'm late for a meeting with my boss, he will castrate me."

Kurt picked up his briefcase and started to turn away but Blaine caught his hand first.

"Can I see you again soon?" he asked earnestly.

Kurt was pleasantly surprised by the eagerness in his voice. Ray chuckled from where he stood a few feet away.

Blaine shot him a dirty look before turning back to Kurt.

"Absolutely. As long as you promise not to try and drown me again. Here, give me your number and I'll call you this week?" Kurt held out his phone to Blaine.

Blaine struggled with his words for a moment before admitting,

"I don't have a phone."

"Oh." Kurt was taken aback. Who didn't have a phone in this day and age?

"You really are a hippie aren't you?" he teased.

Blaine smiled weakly. "That's me."

"Okay. How about this. You remember where my place is from when you dropped me off the other night?"

Blaine nodded.

"Pick me up there on Thursday night. Say, 8 o clock? We'll have dinner."

Blaine grinned. "Perfect."

"Perfect." Kurt echoed. The two gazed happily at each other for a moment before Kurt remembered he was going to be late.

"See you then!" he called as he darted for the train.

As he climbed onto the subway, he dropped heavily into a seat and tried to let the rhythmic swaying of the car calm him. Or rather, calm his heart as it pounded excitedly in his chest.

* * *

><p>Blaine let his shoulders sag with relief as he watched the subway car pull away.<p>

He could feel Ray watching him carefully and he turned to him.

"He seems really nice, youngin'. Good for you."

Blaine laughed. "I'm sure he's good for me, I just don't think I'm good for him."

"Hogwash" said Ray.

"I mean, pretty much anyone with a roof over their head and is gainfully employed is out of my league. But Kurt, Kurt is _way_ out of my league."

"You have more to offer than you think." Ray said as they exited the underground and headed towards the park.

Blaine studied Ray's expression for a moment before saying, "I know what you're thinking. You think I should be honest with him."

"I just think if you like him as much as that goofy expression on your face tells me you do, then dishonesty probably isn't the best way to start things off."

"What goofy expression? I do not have a goofy expression!" Blaine tried to rearrange his features into something more serious.

"Besides, it's not as if that's a winning pick up line." Blaine made his best sultry face and intoned, "Hey baby, can I come home with you because, well, I don't have one."

Ray laughed. But Blaine's face turned serious again as he watched the traffic rushing by.

"Look. I'm not trying to be dishonest with him. I just...really like him and I think if he knew, he wouldn't stay."

"I really want him to stay."

* * *

><p>"I would never have guessed you were gay. That's all I'm saying." Kurt said, his head resting on Blaine's bare chest.<p>

"I just like to save my flaming homosexuality for the bedroom." Blaine quipped as he wrapped his arms tighter around Kurt's slender frame.

"Yes, I noticed." Kurt grinned as he slid deeper beneath the sheets in his bed. "So what about me? Did you know I was gay right away?"

"Yup." Blaine nodded, fighting with the weight of his heavy eyelids. It hadn't been part of his plan to come home with Kurt after their dinner date in the Village, but they had laughed and talked and connected the entire night so when Kurt had kissed him sweetly and asked him if he wanted to come up, he couldn't resist.

"Let me guess, the clothes?" Kurt asked.

"I think it was your erotic drawing of me that tipped me off."

"Erotic? Don't flatter yourself. I can definitely do a better erotic drawing now that I know what's underneath all those layers."

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?"

Kurt laughed and snuggled closer to Blaine's chest. They lay quiet for a long time, and Blaine revelled in the feeling of weightlessness. It was unusual for him to be this relaxed, especially at night. Even when he slept, he was constantly on guard, watching his back. The only thing that brought relief was playing music, and now he could add Kurt to that list.

He was amazed at how quiet it was in Kurt's 7th floor apartment on the Upper West Side. He was used to the sounds of the city at night when he slept outside. There was always shouting, car horns, the distant rattling of the subway, sirens.

But here it was quiet and warm. He fought the urge to let sleep take him and carefully lifted Kurt's head from his chest and put a pillow underneath it. He moved slowly as he disentangled himself from the sheets, trying not to wake Kurt.

The old wooden floors creaked angrily as he brought his bare feet into contact with them, and he gingerly started gathering his clothes that had been scattered hastily earlier in the night. It was the first night that he and Kurt had spent together and he thought it would be extremely presumptuous to stay the night.

He glanced out the window as he searched the room for his other sock and cursed quietly when he saw it was snowing. It was only early November, but snow in New York at this time of year wasn't unheard of. He stared at the light flakes drifting through the night sky thinking of how the first snow of the year used to be so exciting. As a kid, snow meant that Christmas was coming, and he would often squeal and drag his mother to the window to watch. Now it only made his stomach fill with dread.

Kurt stirred from across the room and called out to him.

"You're leaving?"

Blaine walked back over to the bed and bent down to kiss Kurt's forehead.

"Yeah, I figured I should go. I didn't want to overstay my welcome. I had a wonderful night though. I'll call you from work tomorrow?"

"Stay."

Blaine wasn't sure he heard Kurt right and he cocked his head to the side slightly in confusion.

When Kurt repeated himself, Blaine felt his heart flip flop inside his chest.

"I want you to stay."

Kurt wanted him to stay.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you liked! Review and tell me what you think, thanks so much for reading!<strong>


	4. Chapter 3

**Things start to fall apart for Blaine...  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Kurt covered his mouth with his hand as he yawned widely.

"Late night?" Blaine asked as he refilled Kurt's coffee cup.

"Yeah, _someone _kept me awake all night." Kurt smiled slyly at Blaine and then continued typing on his laptop.

"_Can't you hear that rooster crowing.." _Blaine sang.

"Seriously? Cock jokes?" Kurt raised his eyebrow at Blaine.

"If you had let me finish I was going to sing, '_The night passed away so quickly, it always does when you're with me' _Blaine continued the verse of Bob Dylan.

Kurt laughed. "My bad."

"Just because you have a filthy mind, doesn't mean the rest of us can't be romantics." said Blaine.

"Oh no, really? This from the person who asked me top or bottom the first day we met?"

"Well -" Blaine began but Kurt cut him off.

"No more dirty talk at work. Aren't you supposed to be doing something or do you get paid to refill my coffee and serenade me?"

Blaine raised his hands in defeat as he sauntered back over to the counter.

Kurt smiled at his boyfriend and continued typing up a proposal for work on his laptop. He was seated near the front window in the Starbucks on West 45th Street where Blaine worked.

It was early December and the snow was coming down hard outside. Kurt let his mind wander back to the previous night as he watched the snowflakes. Last night, Blaine had sprung from bed in the middle of the night and started scribbling furiously on a pad of paper.

Kurt had woken up and watched Blaine scribble notes on the page, and then words, hastily scrawled and illegible.

He always liked to watch Blaine write music. He was intense about it, writing furiously and inspiration struck him at the most random moments.

At the same time, it ate away at something inside Kurt, watching him pour his heart onto a page in that way. It made him think of the blank canvas in his living room that he yearned to fill with colour, but he could never bring himself to do it.

Blaine had crawled back into bed a quarter of an hour later, whispering excitedly to Kurt about chords and melodies and motifs and a variety of other things he had been too tired to pay attention to. He'd just studied Blaine's face as he talked, watching the way he gestured animatedly with his hands and the way his lips wrapped around his words. Kurt had brought his hands to Blaine's face and ran his fingers over the stubble on his cheeks, pressing his lips insistently onto his.

Was two months too soon for the word love?

Kurt remembered the weak feeling in his knees and the way that Blaine's mouth pressed up against his ear had sent him spiralling out of control. He hadn't spoken, for fear of the things he might have said to Blaine but they had made love until the sun began to rise.

Hence his midday exhaustion and his third cup of coffee. He was waiting patiently for Blaine to finish his shift so that they could head down to the MOMA together for the new exhibition.

Kurt didn't even look up when the door opened, letting in a rush of cold air and another customer until the crashing sound of something falling to the ground caught his attention.

He saw that Blaine had dropped a pot of coffee to the floor and was staring at the man who had just entered.

The expression on his face jolted Kurt from his chair.

Blaine looked terrified.

His face had drained of all colour and his eyes were wide as they surveyed the man in the suit and tie.

The man was tall, with thick wavy hair. He approached Blaine and when he reached the counter, Blaine backed as far as he could away from the man.

"Can I get a grande cafe misto?" he said, in a deep voice.

Blaine looked confused and for a moment he just gaped open mouthed. One of the girls that he worked with stepped forward to make the man's drink, noticing Blaine's distress.

Kurt watched as she gestured at the clock, telling Blaine his shift was over. Blaine just nodded mutely, nearly tripping over his feet as he exited through the back door to gather his coat.

Kurt studied the man intently once Blaine had left, trying to figure out what it was about him that had shaken Blaine so badly. He looked ordinary to Kurt. He was tall, well over six feet with dark hair and was well dressed in a dark suit.

Kurt guessed he was maybe thirty, and he carried a briefcase. Maybe a business man? He waited a few more minutes for Blaine to re-emerge, and when he didn't Kurt asked the girl at the counter about Blaine, all the while eyeing the man in the suit warily.

She shrugged and told Kurt he could go back and get Blaine if he wanted to. So Kurt thanked her and pushed through the door to the staff room.

It was empty.

He looked around in confusion for a moment before noticing that there was a door that led outside into the alleyway and it was propped open.

"Blaine?" he called as he walked through the door.

Blaine was sitting in the alley, knees pulled up to his chest, back against the brick wall.

He was shaking.

"Blaine, Jesus, what-"Kurt got down on the ground beside him and reached out his hand to his shoulder but Blaine jerked away violently.

Kurt was at a loss. He sat quietly beside Blaine as the minutes passed, watching him struggle to breathe.

After what felt like forever to Kurt, Blaine seemed to gather himself and he stood up, extending his hand to Kurt.

"Okay, let's go."

Kurt just stared at him.

"You...but Blaine...what just happened?"

"Kurt...can we just go?" Blaine scuffed the toe of his shoe against the pavement, avoiding Kurt's eyes.

"What? No. Are you okay? Who is that guy?" Kurt pressed.

"Kurt I..." Blaine's voice cracked. "I need you to believe me when I say I can't talk about this right now. And I need you to trust me when I say that I want to tell you, and I will as soon as I can. Can you do that?"

Kurt was deeply troubled by what he had just witnessed, but the pleading look on Blaine's face made him cave. And he did trust Blaine, he did.

"Okay. I have an idea. Where's your guitar?"

Blaine looked visibly relieved that Kurt had decided to let it go. He motioned back towards the door. "I was going to leave it at work until I come back tomorrow."

"Go get it."

"What about the MOMA?"

"Screw the MOMA. I have a much better idea."

Blaine raised his eyebrows at Kurt, but obliged. The pair boarded the subway and headed in the direction of the park.

Kurt watched Blaine carefully as they sat on the subway. He sat quietly, less talkative than usual, fiddling with the straps on his guitar case. He still looked pale, and Kurt noticed that his foot ticked nervously against the seat.

Kurt wasn't actually going to forget about what had happened, but he believed Blaine when he said he couldn't talk about. He looked distraught, and as badly as Kurt wanted to know what had made him so upset, he wanted even more to make Blaine smile again.

So that's how they found themselves in the middle of Central Park.

"Kurt, what are we doing here? I wasn't planning on singing today." Blaine gave Kurt a puzzled look.

"That's because you aren't singing today. I am."

Blaine's face broke into a huge grin.

That was exactly the reaction Kurt had been hoping for. Blaine had been begging to hear him sing since the first day they met, and he had refused up until now. He figured it might just be the pick me up that Blaine needed.

"You know Blackbird?" Kurt asked once Blaine had gotten his guitar out.

He smiled and nodded, and then began playing.

Kurt pushed down the nervous fluttering feeling in his stomach. Sure, he had done a lot of performing before, but nothing in a setting quite this exposed.

It wasn't a stage with lights or a backing track, it was just him, his boyfriend, and a guitar in the park. It was unsettling and exciting all at once. The pure joy on Blaine's face was enough to give Kurt the courage to begin singing.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
>Take these broken wings and learn to fly<br>All your life  
>You were only waiting for this moment to arise<em>

Blaine played the song effortlessly, keeping his eyes glued to Kurt.

_Black bird singing in the dead of night  
>Take these sunken eyes and learn to see<em>

Kurt noticed that a small group of people had gathered around them and were watching with interest. Did people like his singing? He felt nervous as the audience grew, but at the same time, he couldn't tear his eyes off Blaine for more than a few seconds.

Blaine had completely transformed from his earlier state. All the colour had returned to his face and Kurt noted that he was no longer fidgeting nervously. Kurt loved that music did that for Blaine; brought him to life. He loved that _he _could do that for Blaine.

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

Kurt finished the song and the small group of people that had been standing around them offered a bit of scattered applause, but that didn't matter to Kurt at all. The only thing he cared about was the way Blaine was looking at him. He seemed to be at a complete loss for words, so Kurt sauntered over to him and wrapped his arms around Blaine's neck, rubbing their noses together gently.

"So. Did I live up to your lofty musical standards?" Kurt asked.

"I love you." Blaine answered, all the words tumbling out of his mouth together.

Kurt felt the world stop. What? Had Blaine just said what he had thought he said? And wasn't it just a few hours earlier he had been sitting in Starbucks wondering if this amazing man who had just stumbled into his life somehow could ever love him back? Breathless from the singing and the adrenaline and the force of Blaine's words, Kurt did the only thing he could.

He kissed him. He kissed him in a way that said _I love you too._

* * *

><p>Blaine stood in the bathroom in Kurt's apartment later that night, staring at himself in the mirror.<p>

He was cracking.

He knew it. He could feel his grip on everything slipping.

It was too much to keep together, and he felt all the small dishonesties building up into one big lie.

He gripped the edge of the counter to try and ground himself, turning on the tap and splashing water on his face.

He stared at his reflection again, disgusted.

He didn't want to lie to Kurt. He hated it. But now he had gotten himself in too deep to go back.

He had meant what he said in the park earlier that day. He had fallen in love with Kurt. He hadn't meant to, or even realized it until he had sung that song, and suddenly everything had slid into place for Blaine.

Love.

He knew that he couldn't keep up his charade forever and that his time was ticking. He had told Kurt that his apartment was undergoing renovations, and that's why he never brought him there. But after almost three months, he knew that his excuse was wearing thin. He was sure Kurt thought it was strange the way he carried his guitar around everywhere he went, or that he only wore two or three different shirts.

When Nathan had shown up in Starbucks, it had been just another piece of Blaine's grand delusion falling apart. It was another part of himself that Blaine had to be ashamed of, and hide from the man he loved.

Fuck. Falling in love with Kurt had made everything so much more complicated.

He rinsed out his mouth, spitting in the sink and resuming his staring competition with the small vanity mirror. He could hear Kurt moving around in the kitchen, getting ready for bed, but he couldn't bring himself to go out and face him just yet.

He took a few steadying breaths, at least feeling grateful for the fact that Kurt had invited him to stay again that night. He still felt unsteady from his encounter with Nathan in Starbucks and he didn't know if he could face a night in the snow.

All he wanted to do was slide into bed beside Kurt and hold onto him. He wanted everything else to go away.

"Blaine?" Kurt called from outside. "Come to bed."

After giving one last withering glare at the man in the mirror, he turned to leave.

He crawled into bed alongside Kurt and wrapped him up in his arms, relishing the feeling of security he didn't find anywhere else.

When Blaine finally drifted off to sleep, he slept uneasily. He tossed and turned, violent images mixing with dark memory and all of a sudden he was screaming.

"Blaine! Blaine, hey, it's okay, Blaine wake up." He could hear Kurt's voice calling to him, but he couldn't shake the violent fear that had engulfed him.

Kurt reached out to touch him, but Blaine pulled away, almost falling out of the bed in the process.

He stumbled blindly in the dark room towards the door, shaking all over.

He could hear Kurt calling to him, but he couldn't breathe, and all he could think was that he needed to get out.

He stumbled shakily to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him as he fell to his knees.

He struggled with the feeling of crushing fear pushing on his chest, warring with the urge to vomit and the urge to rip out his hair by the roots.

The room was spinning. The harder he tried to make it stop, the faster it spun.

He could feel his t-shirt sticking to his chest with cold sweat and became intensely aware of the cold. He shivered, letting the tremors rip through his entire body.

He lay down on the floor, entwining his fingers in his hair and pulled. All he could see was his face. Nathan's face. Blood.

Every place on his body where Nathan had ever touched him felt like it was on fire.

He let out a low moan.

Kurt was at the door, banging insistently.

"Blaine, honey, what happened? Blaine. Let me in."

He lay still, trying to get a grip on himself. He couldn't let Kurt see him like this.

Blaine had been right when he had looked in the mirror and saw the cracks. He had finally cracked.

"Blaine, please, just, open the door." Kurt's voice sounded increasingly worried.

He didn't know where he found the strength to do it, but Blaine reached up and opened the door, before promptly crumpling onto the floor again.

Kurt didn't say anything. He just sat down on the floor beside Blaine and gathered him up in his arms.

"Shhhh" he cooed gently. "Just breathe. You're okay. You're okay." Blaine felt Kurt press his lips to the top of his head and he took a few steadying breaths into Kurt's chest.

"I've got you. You're okay." He repeated.

It soothed him to have Kurt's arms around him, but Blaine still felt unhinged. He could still see the faces in his nightmare too clearly. He buried his head further into Kurt's chest, trying to block them out.

"Can you tell me what the dream was about?" Kurt asked gently after several moments of silence. "Does this have to do with what happened today at the coffee shop?"

Blaine was terrified of what Kurt would think of him once he knew the truth, but he was also terrified of what he would think of him if he didn't explain himself.

He opened his mouth to try and explain, only to find he couldn't speak. He took deep breaths instead as Kurt watched him patiently.

"The man in the coffee shop. His name is Nathan."

Kurt waited as Blaine struggled to collect his thoughts.

"He's an ex. When I first came to New York, I met him while I was playing music in the park. He worked for a record company and he said he could get me signed. We started dating."

Kurt rubbed circles on Blaine's back as he talked and he found it gave him the courage to continue.

"Things were really good. Until..." Blaine sighed; he was getting to the hard part.

"Until his business started going downhill, the company went under. He started drinking. I...he started getting really angry all the time and he was drunk pretty much round the clock. But...I didn't have very much money and I knew next to no one in New York. So I stayed."

Kurt nodded understandingly.

"But...he..."

Blaine stopped. He didn't know if he could actually form the words, let alone say them in the presence of Kurt. He was so ashamed.

"It's okay. You can tell me." Kurt whispered into the top of Blaine's head as they sat on the cold tiles in the semi-darkness.

"No, no. I can't." Blaine shivered in Kurt's arms. They sat there for what seemed like forever in silence, Blaine shivering and Kurt rubbing his back before Blaine finally spoke.

"He started h-hurting me. He'd get really angry when he was drunk and he's a lot bigger than I am. He would... hit me."

Kurt drew in a sharp breath. Blaine felt everything pouring out of him now.

"He would hit me, sometimes he pushed me into things; once I blacked out and didn't wake up for hours."

Blaine could feel Kurt's hand quivering inside his own, but he kept going. "I had to get a bunch of stitches, and every time it just got worse and worse. But I stayed." He felt like he was losing it again, the tears creeping up on him, his words spinning out of control.

"The last night, before I left him, he just kept going. Usually, he'd just take one or two good swings at me and it'd be out of his system. But that night...he kept going. He hit me again and again. God, there was blood everywhere. My ribs were broken. But something just snapped inside me. I hit him back. Broke his nose I think and then I ran. Never looked back."

He felt a strange weightlessness after confessing to Kurt. He also felt ashamed, small, weak. But he felt light too. He considered for a moment continuing the story, telling Kurt that when he left Nathan in fear for his life he had nothing at all, no money, no home. That he still didn't have any home. But he couldn't.

Kurt was still silent. They sat in the heavy silence of Blaine's confession for what felt like an eternity. Blaine listened to the sound of their breathing, and watched the night sky through the tiny bathroom window.

"I love you."

It wasn't what Blaine had been expecting at all, but somehow it was so much better than any of the platitudes Kurt could have offered. He didn't want to hear _I'm sorry, that's awful, you poor thing, _he wanted to hear that Kurt understood, that he accepted it, that he still wanted Blaine in his life regardless of his past.

Those three words told him all of that and more.

* * *

><p><strong>Review and let me know what you thought :)<strong>


	5. Chapter 4

**So I'm actually really pleased with the fluffy bits of this chapter. I apologize for it being Christmas and it actually being February in reality...but this story has a very specific timeline so...use your imagination!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

"You're doing it wrong." Rachel said pointedly as she glanced at the box Blaine was wrapping.

"Am not!" Blaine retorted as he struggled with the pieces of scotch tape attached to his fingertips.

"I wouldn't have asked you to help me with my Christmas wrapping if I knew you were so incompetent." Rachel sniped as she curled a strand of ribbon with the scissors.

"You know that you're supposed to be grateful when someone offers selflessly to do you a favour right? I feel like you missed that day of kindergarten," said Blaine.

Blaine was sprawled across Kurt's living room floor with Rachel and the three of them were hiding away from the snow storm going on outside. He pushed his thick framed glasses further up his nose and stuck his tongue out as he fiddled with the corners of the wrapping paper. Why did this have to be difficult?

"Come on, children, play nice." Kurt called from the kitchen where he was immersed in a storm of Christmas baking.

Rachel sniffed and resumed her watch on Blaine.

Noticing her critical eyes, Blaine said "Aren't you Jewish anyway? Why all the Christmas presents?"

"I can be Jewish and still want to give gifts to my friends and family." She replied before continuing, "No, you're crushing the ribbon. I thought you would be good at this, considering how Kurt keeps raving about how good you are with your hands." She grinned at Blaine through her fringe of hair and winked.

"Oh god! Rachel!" Kurt yelled from the kitchen. "Do I have to stitch your lips closed to get you to keep anything to yourself?"

Blaine burst out laughing. "Well. This wouldn't be so difficult if I could wrap the presents with my tongue. Did Kurt say anything about that?" he managed to choke out through his laughter.

Rachel started laughing hysterically.

Kurt emerged from the kitchen, trying to look stern in his apron and oven mitts, glaring at Blaine and Rachel while they rolled around on the floor, laughing and clutching their sides.

"Seriously, I'm going to ban both of you from my apartment if you don't cut that out" he said.

"You're just the Grinch this year because Julius has you working right till Christmas Eve." Rachel said when she finally composed herself.

"I think that makes him the Grinch, not me. But yes, I'm miffed that I can't go home until Christmas Eve. You'll be in Lima with everyone while I'm still slaving away here, all by my lonesome." Kurt sighed as he headed back into the kitchen.

"Hey what about me?" Blaine called after him scrambling up from his spot on the floor and following Kurt. "I'll be here."

Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist as he stood over the oven, placing a soft kiss on Kurt's neck.

Kurt purred quietly. "Mmmm, yes, that's one good thing."

"Quit." Blaine suggested simply.

"What?" Kurt asked, looking up from the bread dough he was kneading.

"If working for Julius makes you so miserable, then quit." Blaine said quietly as he slipped his fingers through the loops of Kurt's knit sweater.

Blaine rested his chin on Kurt's shoulder as he formulated an answer. Blaine adored the way Kurt's cheeks were flushed just slightly red from the heat of the kitchen.

"In a perfect world..." Kurt began, "I would quit working for Julius, I'd open my own gallery uptown and have all the best painters in New York show their work there. I'd paint too. I'd be my own boss, I would work whatever hours I wanted, but most importantly, I would be doing something I loved. I'd be free."

Blaine was surprised. He hadn't expected that honest an answer from Kurt. But he was touched too, that Kurt would share that with him when we was usually so reserved; so practical when it came to work.

"That's a beautiful dream." Blaine breathed.

"And a dream it will remain." Kurt said as flipped the dough into the pan. "I need the money I earn from Julius. I'm good at it too."

Blaine recognized the note of finality in Kurt's voice, so he didn't push further. Instead, he nuzzled into Kurt's neck, taking in the smell of ginger and brown sugar that filled the kitchen and had settled on Kurt's skin. He wanted to take in as much of him as he could before he left for Lima for a week to be with his family for the holidays.

"So you think I'm good with my hands eh?"

Kurt turned around so he could kiss Blaine on the mouth. "You're okay."

"Okay?" Blaine smirked. "Just okay?" he asked as he slipped his hands underneath Kurt's shirt and ran them across the bare skin just above his belt. He dipped his hand lower, skimming across the already visible bulge in Kurt's pants, causing him to buck forward a little into Blaine's hands.

"I don't know, why don't you keep going and- "

_Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful!_

Kurt groaned as he was interrupted by Rachel belting out the opening lines of "Let it Snow" while she accompanied herself on the piano.

Blaine laughed, "Let's join her." He was never one to turn down a song, so he grabbed Kurt's hand and pulled him from the kitchen.

"Funny how every time I let her into my apartment I end up regretting it." Kurt said as he let himself be dragged away from his baking.

_You're as cuddly as a cactus; you're as charming as an eel Mr. Grinch_

Blaine sang, teasing Kurt. He sat down at the piano bench beside Rachel and joined her impromptu carolling, letting himself feel that maybe, just maybe this Christmas would be a good one.

* * *

><p>"Owww." Kurt moaned as Blaine pulled him up off the ice once again.<p>

"My ass is so sore." He complained as he tried to steady himself on the skates.

Blaine wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You are a child." Kurt said as he wobbled forward.

Blaine took his mitten covered hand and led him around the rink in Rockefeller center. The rink was crowded on December 23rd and they had to navigate themselves carefully around the swarms of skaters swaddled in layers of scarves and coats.

"I need to move somewhere with less winter. Winter always ends up injuring me." Kurt mused as they passed a group of giggling preteens.

Blaine gave him a look that suggested he wanted more information. So Kurt began,

"Well, when I was twelve, I was tobogganing with some of the neighbours and I crashed right into a huge rock. I guess I came home with a bunch of blood on my face because my dad screamed like Wendy in the Shining. I then proceeded to puke on his shoes because I had a concussion."

Blaine laughed. Kurt's storytelling had gotten quite animated.

"I think I remember it so well because of the way my dad reacted. He didn't even flinch when I puked on him. He just hugged me and reassured me that I would feel better soon."

Kurt sighed. It had always felt that when he was a kid, his dad could sense when he missed his mother the most and made up for it with a little extra love.

"You miss him." Blaine said.

"Yeah. I mean, I belong here in New York, he knows that, but sometimes I wish it wasn't quite so far away."

Kurt noticed that Blaine was staring down at his skates fixedly and he brought one mitten covered hand up to his face to smack his forehead.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel..." Kurt began.

"No, no. It's nice to hear stories about your dad. He sounds like an amazing guy. And anyway, I have good memories with my dad from when I was young too. Just not any recent ones."

Kurt watched Blaine as he started contemplatively at the giant Rockefeller Christmas tree that was casting multi-coloured light across the rink. Blaine then seemed to remember something funny, because he let out a sudden bright laugh.

"Like when I was eight, I decided that it would be a really great idea to lick this giant icicle outside the house."

"Oh no I know where this is going" Kurt giggled.

"Yeah, and well it was super cold out and I got my tongue stuck to it really good."

"Blaine Anderson- putting really big things in his mouth since 199-"

"Oh shut up, or you're going down on the ice again." Blaine interrupted before he could finish the joke.

Kurt was having a hard time staying upright on his skates while he cackled at the thought of pint-sized Blaine with his tongue stuck to a giant icicle and he had to grab onto to Blaine to keep from falling over.

"You just love laughing at my expense don't you? Anyway, I couldn't yell for help, because my tongue, so I ended up just kind of making this kind of sheep like baa-ing noise and eventually my dad came outside and found me. You know what he did when he saw me? He turned right around and went back in the house. I was so confused, but he came back out a minute later with my mom and the camera. _The_ _camera_ for god's sake. And the two of them stood there taking pictures and laughing before they detached me."

Kurt laughed. "Parents are like that. I was the ring bearer at one of my parents friend's wedding when I was little and I fell in the hotel pool like 5 minutes before the ceremony. They took so many pictures. I thought it was highly unamusing that my outfit had been ruined of course."

"Yeah, I thought the whole thing was pretty hilarious after my tongue was returned to my control."

"You have a snowflake on your nose." Kurt pointed to Blaine's nose before leaning in and kissing it softly, causing the snowflake to melt into his mouth. He was about to pull away when Blaine yanked him in closer, aligning his lips with Kurt's.

Kurt couldn't believe how pleasant it was, kissing when it was so cold. The warmth of their mouths contrasted sharply with the bitterly cold air and his cold cheeks were instantly warmed by the close proximity. Blaine's mouth tasted like mint and he could feel the tiny snowflakes falling onto their shoulders.

"Merry Christmas." He breathed as Blaine pulled away, clasping their mittened hands together over his heart.

Hours later, they found themselves in a nearly empty subway car headed uptown to Kurt's apartment.

Blaine was stretched out over several seats with his head in Kurt's lap. His eyes were closed.

Kurt was perfectly content to watch the steady movement of his chest and twist his curls with his fingers. He would uncurl a strand, and then let it spring back into place, intermittently rubbing his fingers lightly over Blaine's scalp and making him hum with pleasure.

Content to listen to Blaine's purrs, Kurt leaned his head back and closed his eyes too. The sway of the subway always rocked him to sleep; the city's heart beating. One hand tangled in Blaine's hair and one hand around Blaine's wrist, he felt his pulse against his fingers and everything felt right.

* * *

><p>"Open it."<p>

"But it's only the 23rd" Blaine said.

Kurt frowned at him. "You know I'm leaving for Ohio tomorrow morning. Now open it silly." Kurt shoved the delicately wrapped box towards Blaine as they sat in the dim light of his apartment.

"Dick in a box?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You've been watching too much YouTube."

Blaine tore the wrapping off the box in a few quick strokes, leaving Kurt's neat wrapping job in ruins. He opened the lid of the box and excitedly took out the contents.

He pulled out a dark blue sweater and a button down in an olive green.

"Wow Kurt these are really beautiful."

"Yes well, I thought maybe you were getting a little tired of the Roger Davis look." Kurt says pointedly looking at Blaine's faded shirt.

Blaine laughed, "Yes, okay I see your point. The only cues I should take from the characters of Rent are musical ones not fashion related?"

"Yes exactly. For future reference also, those two things are not meant to be worn together. They would clash horribly. But I thought the colours separately would be wonderful with your skin tone."

"Thank you baby." Blaine said as wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist and kissing him.

"Wait, wait," Kurt said pulling away. "There's one more thing in there."

Blaine fished his hand into the box and retrieved the last item. It was a thick scarf, cream coloured and knit with wide braids.

Blaine sucked in his breath a little as he ran his fingers over it. It was incredibly soft. He threw it around his neck, relishing the warmth and the smell of Kurt on it.

"How do I look?" he asked, giving Kurt a twirl and a fake model pout.

"Fabulous dah-ling" Kurt drawled.

"Okay, now I have something for you." Blaine walked over to the small fake tree where Kurt had all his presents for his family ready to go for tomorrow. Blaine produced a small package and handed it to Kurt.

"Hey, how did that get there?" Kurt looked puzzled as he examined the package.

"I wrapped it and put it there when I was helping Rachel with her gifts the other day."

Blaine felt a nervous lump growing in his throat as Kurt daintily opened the package. He wasn't sure what he was going to think of Blaine's Christmas gift to him.

In the box were three different shaped and sized paint brushes, each wrapped in a bit of ribbon that Blaine had tied on himself.

Kurt just stared at them until Blaine spoke, "I um...saw that you had those beautiful paints and that big canvas but no brushes. I thought maybe you would start painting again if you had some. I understand if you don't want-"

But his nervous explanation was cut off by Kurt jumping into his arms and kissing him.

He broke away moments later, breathless. "You like them?"

"They are beautiful. You are beautiful." Kurt mumbled into the crook of Blaine's neck and Blaine felt it send a shiver up his spine.

"I love that..." Kurt paused to catch his breath. "That you care so much about my painting. I told you maybe on our first or second date that it made me happier than anything else, and you've never forgotten it. No one has ever given me such a thoughtful gift before."

"So you'll use them?" Blaine was grinning now.

"Maybe..." Kurt began as he started to unwrap the scarf from Blaine's neck. "If we start taking clothes off you instead of putting them on, I might let you pose for me."

* * *

><p>What seemed like only seconds later, it was morning and Blaine was lying in bed pretending to be asleep. He was watching Kurt, who was sitting across the room on the floor with his new paintbrushes. Blaine watched with his eyes half open as Kurt held each brush in his hand, running his fingers over the tips and up the handle, turning them in his hands, inspecting each of them. He brought the clean brush to the blank canvas that was sitting propped up against the wall, moving it in long strokes over the surface, twisting his wrists as if he was remembering the movements.<p>

After watching him for a few more minutes, Blaine crawled out of bed and joined him.

"Don't you have to get going?" he asked Kurt.

"Yeah." Kurt sighed. "I'm sorry I won't be here to spend Christmas with you. And that you're not going home for Christmas."

"Don't be silly, I'll have a much better Christmas here than I would with my family. I'm seeing some friends, don't worry."

"Okay. Well I better get going. I'll miss you." Kurt said, kissing his lips and then the palm of his hand.

Blaine smiled, "You'll only be gone a week." However, what he was really thinking was that it would feel like forever.

Blaine walked Kurt downstairs, carrying his bag despite Kurt's protests that he could do it himself.

The bitter wind stung their faces as Kurt hailed a taxi and Blaine was grateful for the soft scarf wrapped snugly around his neck; the scarf that smelled like Kurt.

After embracing for several long moments, Blaine watched as the taxi drove off. Unsure of exactly what to do on Christmas Eve by himself, he wandered down to the park where he knew he would find Ray with his harmonica.

Sure enough, Ray was bundled in a sleeping bag on one of the park benches, and Blaine sat down beside him heavily.

"Where's your Christmas spirit youngin'?" Ray asked.

"I think it left with Kurt for Ohio."

"You're just sad you can't sleep in his big comfy bed for a week."

Blaine knew that Ray was joking, but he couldn't help snapping at him. "That's not why I'm with him. This isn't like it was with Nathan. I'm not staying with him so I can have somewhere to live."

"Hey easy there. I didn't mean that and you know it."

Blaine slumped down into the back of the bench. "Sorry." He mumbled. "I know you didn't. I just...I'm afraid that's what he'll think if...when...he find outs. About this. I mean, I can't keep up this charade forever. It's exhausting. Now, I've gone and fucking fallen in love with him. Fuck."

Ray nodded understandingly as he extricated himself from his sleeping bag. "Come on. Good Shepherd's having a Christmas Eve dinner tonight. Let's go get some food, see some good people, you'll feel better."

Blaine sighed. He really didn't feel like eating, but he joined Ray anyway, considering he had nowhere else to go.

Blaine managed to enjoy the evening, despite everything. He and Ray sat at a table in the Good Shepherd Center with Crazy Legs McGee, an old man with frizzy hair and wild eyes who made inappropriate jokes throughout the entire meal. Blaine laughed at his insanity but was happy when they were joined by a skinny girl with long straight black hair.

"Cecily! Merry Christmas."

She half smiled at Blaine through her long fringe of hair and dug into her plate of food.

Blaine had met Cecily last year, right after he had moved out from Nathan's place. She had been only 17 then, but already experienced at living on the streets. She had shown Blaine the ropes; told him the best places to sleep when it was cold, showed him the places where people were most generous with their pocket change and probably, she had saved his life. Blaine had remembered being wary of her, this young girl who wore too much black eyeliner and had a drug habit. But she had turned out to be reliable, and resourceful; quick and witty. She sort of felt like the little sister Blaine had never had.

"Guess what Cec," Ray said. Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "Youngin' here got himself a boyfriend."

Blaine blushed and poked the food around his plate with his fork.

"Is that so?" Cecily said, suddenly looking interested.

"Um yeah...his name's Kurt." Blaine answered, avoiding her gaze. She had been by far the most outspoken on his relationship with Nathan, telling him that if he wanted to survive on the streets he needed to learn to stand alone, depend on no one.

"You say Kurt and all I see is lederhosen and the lonely goatherd." Cecily said with a smirk before returning to her grey meatloaf and starchy instant potatoes.

Blaine exhaled. He didn't want to have to answer questions about Kurt tonight. He didn't have the answers.

"You letting him push you around B?" Cecily asked.

All eyes at the table went to Blaine.

"No, Cec, he's not like that. He would never hurt me. He's amazing and kind and-"

She cut him off. "Yeah well. So was Nathan in the beginning wasn't he. They're all the same until they figure out the truth. That you've got nothing. Then they realize that they hold all the cards and it'll go one of two ways, he'll start to lord his power over you like Nathan-motherfucking-Hill, or he'll kick you out on your ass like a piece of trash."

She flipped her hair angrily, stabbing at the meatloaf on her plate with fervour. Blaine shivered involuntarily. Was she right? Could Kurt turn into another Nathan? He didn't think so, but then again, Cecily had seen more than he had.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, other than the occasional giggle from Crazy Legs and the sounds of Cecily attacking her food as if it had personally wronged her.

Cecily dumped her plate in the garbage first and then got up to leave. Blaine jumped up and caught up to her at the shelter entrance.

"Cec, wait. It's Christmas, I don't want you to leave angry."

She sighed and turned to Blaine, rubbing at the dark makeup on her sunken eyes.

"I'm sorry okay B? I'm sure your guy is a real prince but...I don't want to see you get hurt again. And the longer you wait to tell him, who you are..." she struggled with her words. "The harder it's going to be for him to deal with."

"I don't think I can do it." Blaine whispered to her.

"Yes you can. You're strong B. Stronger than you were a year ago. By a lot."

Blaine smiled weakly at her, wanting to believe it was true.

"Besides, if he takes it poorly, just give me his address and I'll kick his sweet little ass all the way back to Austria 1945, where he belongs. Let Captain Von Trapp deal with him."

Blaine snorted. "I love you." He said pulling her into a tight hug.

"Alright, alright, I gotta get out here before it starts snowing too hard. It was nice spending Christmas Eve with you B."

Blaine watched her walk out the door, feeling just a little bit more in control of his situation with Kurt.

Those feelings vanished when the next person walked through the door.

Nathan.

Blaine instinctively took a step back, feeling trapped. Nathan was, after all, standing in front of the only exit. He tried to speak, but his voice seemed to have disappeared entirely.

"Blaine-" Nathan said carefully, holding up his hands in surrender. "Listen, I just want to talk to you."

Blaine could feel himself shaking his head no. He thought about calling out for help, but once again his vocal chords failed him.

"I knew you'd be here and I just wanted to say some things to you, that's all."

Blaine's brain went instantly to the fact that Nathan knew where he stayed. He had to get out, he had to run, and never come back.

"I don't want to talk to you." Blaine finally choked out, trying to find the strength that Cecily believed he had.

He was sweating now, despite the low temperature and he could feel the spot on his hip aching where Nathan had shattered his pelvis.

"I know, just listen to me, I want to apologize." Nathan took a few steps forward, arms outstretched towards Blaine.

It was the wrong thing to do.

Blaine's flight instinct took over and he summoned all the willpower he had to force his body to move towards Nathan in order to get by him and out the doors.

"Wait! Please! Come back. Blaine goddammit!"

He could hear Nathan yelling as he sprinted out into the snow, following the only coherent thought in his head:

_Get away, never come back_

He ran until he was in the heart of downtown, attracting some strange looks from passerbys on his way. He rented a small storage locker, no bigger than a closet under the stairs downtown where he kept the few things he owned. It was all he could afford, but his few possessions were worth protecting.

His guitar, a small backpack and a ratty old sleeping bag.

The contents of his entire life. He spun the combination with shaky hands, emptying the locker. With his guitar on his back and bag in hand, he headed to the park.

Once there, his head was still spinning from the close encounter. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. All he knew was that he could never go back there, where Nathan could find him. He needed to stay out here.

So he unfurled his sleeping back and curled himself up in a dark corner. He was cold. Incredibly cold. His set his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering and pulled his scarf closer around his neck. Inhaling, he smelled Kurt and that morning suddenly felt a thousand years away.

He laughed harshly into the quiet night air. It all seemed so silly now. Trying to make Kurt happy, trying to live a normal life. He couldn't be a part of Kurt's life, it was impossible. Kurt was perfect and he was a mess. A street rat, a dog, garbage. He shouldn't have ever tried to escape that. This was his life. One old sleeping bag, a backpack, a guitar.

He knew that this was his life. He only wished that he could feel his fingers, and that maybe he could stop shaking long enough to sleep.

What he didn't know was that New York was about to experience it's coldest week in 50 years.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you liked! Send me a review, lovely readers! You've all been amazing so far so thanks for that!<strong>


	6. Chapter 5

**Hi guys! So. This chapter is really long but also really important. Sorry about the lack of fluffy/happy/witty banter. It's pretty angsty, just warning. I also have used two songs in the chapter that you should definitely check out. First is from RENT and it's called I'll Cover You. The second one you'll see is a cover of Sara Bareilles song Gravity. The link to the guitar cover is here ( .com/watch?v=kDnudMA8U-o ) ok but obviously with youtube in front of that because won't let me do links. and you should definitely check it out because it's beautiful and just the way I imagine Blaine singing it. Anyway I really hope you enjoy because this chapter was a monster to write!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

The first morning Kurt got back to New York, he woke up just as the sun was rising, intending to work on some of his sketches for his job.

But as he stretched out across the kitchen table with his sketch pad, pencils and coffee, he felt himself itching for something else.

So he picked up his paintbrushes.

He picked up the largest of the group and fingered the tiny bit of ribbon that Blaine had wrapped around it, before gently unwrapping it, and running his fingers lightly over the bristles.

Yes, he would indulge.

He didn't know what to paint, or if he even could anymore, he just knew he wanted to. He had to. His head was too full for anything else.

His head was full of leftover Christmas memories, time spent with his family, and some old members of the New Directions. It was full of Christmas gifts, and grocery lists, numbers on bills, orders from Julius, rows and rows of stitches on a new cloth.

But, more than anything, his head was full of Blaine. It was full of Blaine with his guitar, Blaine in bed, Blaine with stubble, Blaine underneath him, Blaine kissing him, Blaine laughing, Blaine brushing his teeth, Blaine with snowflakes in his hair, Blaine, Blaine, Blaine.

In truth, he was scaring himself. He needed to stop thinking.

So he picked up the brush.

He started mixing colours. They combined easily and he splashed swathes of burnt orange onto the canvas.

It cleared his head almost immediately. His mind became blissfully blank, his hands doing the thinking. They hadn't done that since the day he met Blaine in the park.

He painted for hours, unaware of space, time or conscious thought. He was at the mercy of his hands and he revelled in it.

When he finally shook himself from his trance, a scene lay in front of him. It wasn't complete, but Kurt recognized it immediately.

That day at the lake, in the park. The colours he had decided he wanted to paint as he watched Blaine row them across the water.

It was a swirling mix of orange, auburn, and deep red. Kurt surveyed the autumn colours over the lake and was pleased. He had been sketching for so long, he was happy he remembered the art of colour.

He studied the mix of colours and textures critically, noticing the errors in his technique from years of disuse. Despite the obvious flaws in his work, when he looked at it, Kurt felt something he hadn't in a long time.

Pride.

* * *

><p>His sore wrists forced him away from the painting after a few hours. When he finally mustered the energy to get dressed, he decided to go for a walk and get some coffee.<p>

It was bitterly cold outside. Kurt wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck and did up the top button on his coat as protection against the icy air.

Despite the cold, he strolled leisurely, enjoying being back in New York after his stay in Lima. His feet took him to the park, which was only a few blocks from his apartment and he stopped for coffee at Le Pain Quotidien. He held the warm cup close to his chest and sipped delicately as he walked. He didn't notice when he walked right into a homeless man curled up against the brick wall, in a thin sleeping bag. He stumbled, apologizing quickly.

"Oh sorry I didn't - "

The moment Kurt saw his face the wind was knocked out of his chest.

"Blaine?"

Kurt recoiled, and took an involuntary step backwards. He felt as if he had just run head on into a wall.

A thousand thoughts were warring with each other in his head, jockeying for his attention.

Suddenly, so many things made sense. Why he'd never seen Blaine's apartment. Why Blaine always wore the same two shirts. Why he didn't have a phone.

He was homeless.

"Kurt..." Blaine's voice cracked and he trailed off, coughing violently.

Betrayal and anger swirled in his stomach. He couldn't believe it. He refused to. He felt his carefully constructed world crumbling. This couldn't be happening.

He made himself look at Blaine again.

Blaine was staring up at him with wide eyes, pleading eyes.

But as Kurt looked closer he saw something far more disturbing.

Blaine's lips were blue.

He dropped to his knees in front of Blaine and took his hand.

It was ice cold.

Suddenly, all he felt was concern.

"Blaine, how long have you been out here?"

Blaine gave a non-committal shrug, a move made difficult by his violent shivering.

"Couple days I guess." Blaine's voice was hoarse, and speaking sparked another coughing fit.

Kurt's stomach dropped. That probably meant he had been there since Kurt left before Christmas. Kurt watched him anxiously as he wheezed for breath.

"Blaine, you're too cold. We need to get you to a hospital. I think you might have hypothermia."

"No! No, no Kurt I can't." He pleaded, choking on his words.

Kurt still had his hand in his; it wasn't warming up.

"I don't, I don't have any insurance. I can't afford the hospital."

Kurt surveyed Blaine desperately. His heart was racing; he didn't know what to do. Blaine had to go to the hospital. He was so cold, he was barely conscious.

"Kurt, just go. Just leave. Please." Blaine whispered as he closed his eyes, leaning back heavily against the wall.

For a split second, Kurt considered it. After all the lies, what did he owe Blaine?

He swore under his breath.

"Blaine. Blaine, get up."

No. Leaving him wasn't an option. Because something in the back of his mind told him that if he left Blaine there, he would most certainly die.

Kurt wasn't sure how he managed it, but he pulled Blaine to his feet and steadied him against his shoulder as they walked at an agonizing pace out of the park. As soon as he could, Kurt hailed a cab to take them back to his apartment.

He didn't know what he was doing.

Blaine didn't speak the whole way back. Kurt didn't think he could. He seemed barely conscious; the effort of just getting up and getting into the cab seemed to have worsened things. He just sat, curled up on the seat beside Kurt, shaking.

After what seemed like forever, they reached his apartment. Once inside, Blaine stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking as if he didn't want to sit down anywhere, despite the fact he looked ready to collapse. His knees were shaking badly.

"Blaine..." Kurt whispered. He moved towards him and gently tugged his jacket off his shoulders. The slight movement caused Blaine's legs to fail, and he started to fall. Luckily, Kurt managed to catch him before he crashed to the ground. He propped him up, walking them towards the bedroom. Kurt carefully sat Blaine on the edge of the bed where he continued to shiver violently.

"Let me help you," said Kurt as he started to peel off the outer layers of Blaine's ice cold clothes.

Blaine seemed paralyzed and merely gaped at Kurt, open mouthed.

As Kurt peeled off Blaine's shirt, his hands came into contact with the bare skin underneath it. He gasped when he felt how cold it was.

Blaine continued to stare numbly, coughing and struggling to breathe. Kurt surveyed him as he undid the button on his jeans that were frozen stiff, and he waited for a reaction but none came.

Kurt worked quickly, aware of the seconds ticking by and the fact that Blaine didn't seem to be getting any warmer. Kurt had never seen anyone shake so hard. He could hear the chattering of Blaine's teeth even as he tried valiantly to set his jaw, and failed.

Once he had Blaine's frozen clothes off, Kurt quickly began swaddling Blaine in anything he could find to warm him up. He wrapped blanket upon blanket around him, hoping desperately that once he warmed up a little, it would snap him out of his shock-like state.

Kurt chewed on his bottom lip as Blaine continued to shake.

"Is that any better?" he asked.

"Sssgood." Blaine mumbled through his chattering teeth. Just as soon as the words left his mouth, his head rolled forward onto his chest as he began to lose consciousness.

Kurt knew next to nothing about hypothermia, but he knew that this wasn't good.

"Blaine no! Blaine, you have to stay awake." He lifted Blaine's head with his hand and shook him. "Stay awake for me okay. Blaine, just, please."

Blaine's body convulsed in response.

Kurt knew he had to do something. So he changed his approach. He began stripping off his own clothes.

Once he has also in his underwear, he unwrapped Blaine from his blanket cocoon and lay him down on the bed. He then quickly lay down beside him and wrapped them in the duvet together. He pressed his body as close to Blaine's as possible and hissed when his bare skin came into contact with Blaine's. _So cold._

Kurt could hear Blaine's teeth chattering as he let out a low moan.

"Blaine." Kurt whispered.

He wanted so badly to comfort him, to warm him up, to let him know it would be okay.

But the feeling of Blaine's cold skin against his own was causing him to draw a blank, and any comforting words he might have offered seemed to disappear.

In a moment of desperation, the only thing he could come up with was song.

_Live in my house_

_I'll be your shelter_

His voice was thin and tremulous, but Kurt continued; mumbling more than singing, needing Blaine to hear his voice.

_Just pay me back _

_With one thousand kisses_

Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine, rubbing slow, deep circles across his freezing back. He pulled Blaine's head into his chest and wrapped his legs around Blaine's, intertwining them, using his toes to try to restore some of the circulation.

Blaine convulsed against his body and Kurt ached, pulling him closer.

"Shhhh." He cooed, trying to gather words in his head but finding only lyrics instead.

_Be my lover_

He took Blaine's fingers and pressed them into his chest for warmth.

_And I'll cover you_

It was frightening and intimate all at the same time. He could feel Blaine's wheezing breath against his chest and he felt every shiver as if it were his own. It was cold, but he held tight, sharing the warmth of his body with Blaine and silently willing him to be okay. Kurt continued piecing together bits of song; not knowing whether it was to comfort Blaine or to reassure himself. Either way, the fragmented lyrics tumbled from his lips as he murmured into Blaine's hair.

_Just slip me on_

_I'll be your blanket_

He felt cold lips against the thrumming veins in his neck.

_And I'll cover you_

Kurt lost track of time after a while, but he did notice when the shaking subsided. Blaine had long since fallen asleep and Kurt took comfort in the fact that the wheezing seemed to have lessened and his skin was a little warmer against his own.

Kurt could finally breathe again. He was going to be okay.

But with this welcome realization came an entirely unwelcome rush of emotion.

He barely knew the man in the bed beside him.

The realization settled on his chest like dead weight, and Kurt uncurled himself from Blaine's sleeping form and picked his clothes up off the floor.

Kurt stewed for hours while Blaine slept. He moved listlessly around the apartment, never able to settle in one place for more than a few minutes. Gradually, as time slipped by, his anger overtook him.

He wanted to believe that there was a logical explanation for all this; that Blaine would wake up and explain it all away. They could go back to being in love and pretend that none of this had happened. But he couldn't shake one thought that kept coming back.

_Blaine lied. _

Kurt's hands twitched at his sides and he wished he had something to do with them. He briefly contemplated painting, but he didn't want to ruin the scene from that morning with his anger.

So he set about making tea instead. He tapped his foot impatiently for a few minutes, waiting for the kettle to boil before he realized it wasn't plugged in. Huffing in annoyance, he pulled a mug out of the cupboard and slammed it down on the counter harder than he meant to.

How could he have been so _stupid?_

He sunk down to the floor with the realization of it.

He had been fooled by a pretty face and a silky voice.

He had fallen in love with a lie.

He sat there, still for minutes on end, staring out the kitchen window. Noticing the dusky light outside, Kurt wondered how the whole day had slipped by without him noticing. It seemed only moments ago that it had been morning and he had been on top of the world.

All he could feel now was loss. Picking up the cup of tea, he padded down the hallway to the bedroom.

He was surprised to find himself face to face with Blaine when he opened the door.

"Kurt." Blaine exhaled. "I'm s-"

"Don't."

"B-"

"No, really, don't. You lied to me! What else was a lie Blaine? Everything?" Kurt hadn't planned on raising his voice, but once he started, he couldn't stop, his voice tinged with pain.

"No, Kurt. You have to believe me. Everything else was the truth, who I am, how I felt, everything. I just didn't know how to tell you about this. I wanted to, I did!"

Kurt wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe so badly that the man he had fallen in love with wasn't a huge lie.

"Is this what you do?" he asked quietly, afraid of the answer. "Pick up well-off strangers so that you'll have a place to live? Was it because I was wearing nice clothes? Did you assume I was rich and stupid enough to support you?"

Blaine seemed to crumple before his eyes. "No. No, Kurt, please. I _love _you."

"Don't tell me you love me! You don't lie to the people you love!" His voice had risen to a hysterical level and he couldn't help it. As he spoke he forgot the cup of tea he was holding and it flew out of his hand. The mug shattered and tea went everywhere.

Blaine jumped backwards and threw his hands up in front of his face, fast. _Too fast. _ Like it was a reflex.

"Shit." Kurt ignored the broken mug on the floor and stepped towards Blaine. Too late, he realized that smashing things and yelling would probably trigger a whole slew of bad memories for Blaine.

"Blaine, I'm sorry. It was an accident. I wasn't going to...I would never hurt you."

Blaine flinched when Kurt reached his hand out to comfort him.

Guilt coiled in Kurt's stomach. He watched as Blaine shook his head as if to wake himself up from a bad dream.

"Thanks for...um...defrosting me?" Blaine grimaced and then shook his head, "No, thank you for saving my life...in more ways than one."

Kurt pulled in a breath and held it for a moment.

"Why?" He finally whispered.

"I never meant to hurt you. I was just thought that if you knew the truth...that you wouldn't want me anymore." Blaine answered after too many moments had passed in silence. "I guess I was right."

Kurt couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes.

He twisted his hands together anxiously as the silence filled up the space between them. He was utterly lost. He didn't know what to do, what he _could _do. He felt tears stinging his eyes and he forced them back.

Kurt was determined that Blaine would never know just how badly he had broken him.

"Right." Blaine finally broke the silence. "I should go."

Finally tearing his eyes from the floor to meet Blaine's, Kurt couldn't speak. His head reeled with thoughts of where Blaine would sleep that night, Blaine's blue lips, hands that were still trembling with cold, black and yellow bruises and of the way Blaine sometimes woke up at night screaming and drenched in sweat.

It wasn't his problem anymore.

"You should."

* * *

><p>"You're scaring off the tourists."<p>

"I'm pretty sure that's the gloomy vibes you're throwing off more than me, the scary drug addict." Cecily replied from her spot on the bench beside Blaine.

The pair was deep in the Theater District on a grey Thursday afternoon. Cecily took another long drag from her cigarette as Blaine fiddled with the tuning pegs on his guitar.

"Can I borrow five bucks?"

"For drugs?" Blaine replied.

"...that's a distinct possibility..." Cecily said as she crushed the butt of her cigarette with her sneaker.

"Then, no."

"When are you going to learn that goody-two shoes Blaine's disapproval of my _casual _drug related hobbies is not going to get me to quit."

"Just because I can't get you to quit using, doesn't mean I'm going to finance your habit._" _

A few more wandering tourists shot them suspect glances as Cecily glared at them and stuck her tongue out.

"You're just a ray of sunshine today, aren't you?" Blaine half chuckled as he adjusted the neck strap on his guitar.

"You mean as opposed to you, the man who hasn't played a single happy song in a week? I swear to god if you play one more Adele song, I will _cut _you. And you think _I'm _the one scaring the tourists away? Go back to the Beatles, slather on some of that classic Blaine Anderson charm and they'll all come flocking back. You'll see."

Blaine grimaced.

"I've been feeling a little short on charm lately Cec."

"Gee whiz, I hadn't noticed."

"Have a heart Cecily, youngin' here got his heart stomped all over by that pretty boyfriend of his." Ray drawled as he ambled up and took a seat beside Cecily.

"Can we not discuss this anymore? I think the topic's been done to death." Blaine mumbled.

He really was sick of talking about it. Their constant dissection of Kurt's reaction, Blaine's brush with death and the subsequent falling out wasn't helping him forget.

The sooner he forgot Kurt, the sooner he would stop feeling like the entire world had stopped turning.

Cecily had attempted to be sympathetic, but sympathy was far from her forte. Everything she had said to Blaine held the stinging taint of I-told-you-so's. Cecily didn't believe in trusting people, and she certainly didn't believe in love.

Ray had mostly offered a plethora of somewhat comforting, albeit confusing, Southern clichés about love and broken hearts.

On this particular afternoon he offered,

"Even the best horses catch hay fever sometimes youngin'."

Blaine nodded as if he understood and Cecily made a confused face behind Ray's back, making Blaine laugh.

"What I'm tryin' to say," Ray continued through their laughter, "is that you can't let this get ya down Blaine. They'll be other men. More opportunities. You'll fall in love again."

Blaine was tempted to snap at him, but he held his tongue, knowing that his friends were only trying to help. But in all honesty, nothing did. Every time he thought of Kurt, he felt like his heart stopped.

He kept seeing Kurt's face in his mind. The expression he wore as Blaine left. It haunted him. He couldn't bear that he had done that to Kurt.

He shook his head as the memories of Kurt threatened to engulf him again. Almost a week after the confrontation with Kurt, Blaine had been doing better. He was singing again, and he didn't want to regress.

He needed to keep going; pushing forward.

He strummed his fingers along the strings lightly before beginning his next song choice.

It wasn't Adele. He acquiesced to Cecily's request, but only because she'd been with him all morning and had probably heard Adele's entire discography already. He also knew her patience was limited when she was in the early stages of withdrawal.

So he picked something different. It wasn't a chipper Beatles cover or Katrina and the Waves, and he certainly couldn't muster his usual mask of dapper charm. But it was pretty, and it was soothing. So he sang,

_Something always brings me back to you.  
>It never takes too long.<br>No matter what I say or do I'll still feel you here 'til the moment I'm gone._

Cecily looked up at him when she recognized the song. Her eyes softened as she surveyed Blaine with something akin to empathy._  
><em>

_You hold me without touch.  
>You keep me without chains.<br>I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love and not feel your rain._

Blaine tore his eyes away from the tiny crowd forming around him to look back at Cecily. He couldn't hear her, but he could read her lips as she mouthed,

"He broke your heart"

Blaine nodded in affirmation. She finally understood.

_Set me free, leave me be. I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.  
>Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be.<br>But you're on to me and all over me._

He breathed in between verses, trying not to feel every word he sang reverberate in his chest. Everything ached.

After all, he had no one to blame but himself.

Believing that Kurt could love him for what he was had only ever been a fool's hope.

You loved me 'cause I'm fragile.  
>When I thought that I was strong.<br>But you touch me for a little while and all my fragile strength is gone.

By the time he was finishing the song, the world felt heavy on his shoulders again. A small crowd had gathered around and were dropping their coins bills and coins into his open case.

He nodded appreciatively, trying his best to conjure up some of what Cecily referred to as Anderson charm.

_Something always brings me back to you.  
>It never takes too long. <em>

He sighed as he sang the last line and watched the small crowd disperse. He felt drained, and all he wanted to do was find somewhere to curl up and sleep.

He secured his guitar back inside its case and looked up to say goodbye to Ray and Cecily, but found himself face to face with someone else entirely.

He stopped breathing.

"Kurt?"

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! All of you that have been reviewing so far have been absolutely amazing and your lovely comments have made my day so thanks so much :)<strong>


	7. Chapter 6

****Hey guys! So we're slowing getting through this story. There will be 2 more chapters until the big climactic event sooo prepare yourselves :P Here, have some fluff.****

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

"You're leaving early today."

"Rachel, I'm really busy right now. So unless it's the second coming of Christ or something, I'm not leaving early." Kurt replied as he rubbed his eyes with his free hand. He had a headache to rival all others and he didn't think a phone call with Rachel was going to help, somehow.

"Considering I'm Jewish and you're an atheist, I don't think even that would get you out of the office early."

"I don't know, I think it would be kind of amusing to watch all the rabid Christians keel over and die of excitement."

"Not the point. You have to go downtown."

"No I don't. I'm working, and chances are I'm going to be here all night."

"Answer me this, Kurt."

"Mmmm?" Kurt said, leaning back in his desk chair and setting down his pencil.

"How many times have you thought about Blaine today?"

Kurt sat up a little straighter in his chair at the mention of his name.

"I haven't at all." He sniffed, trying to sound convincing.

"Liar. You've been moping all week and I know it's because you miss Blaine."

"Rachel, you know what he did." Kurt replied in an icy tone.

"Yes, and it obviously hasn't made you stop loving him."

Kurt made fake puking sounds at Rachel's cheesy sentiment and put his feet up on the chair opposite him. She had such overblown dramatic ideas about 'love'. Kurt wondered if she secretly expected every relationship in her life to play out like a scene from _West Side Story_ or _Les Mis__é__rables_.

When Julius walked by and snapped his fingers, Kurt quickly took his feet off the chair and picked up his pencil again to make it look like he was working.

"Okay, Rach, I really have to go, the dictator is patrolling the hallways." Kurt said furtively into his phone.

"Alright, alright. But here's the deal. I saw Blaine and his friends this morning down on 54th Street. He was performing. They're still there. So if you think that maybe, just maybe, you might want to talk to him, this is your chance."

"Rachel, I'm hanging up now."

"I know you hate to admit when you're wrong. I know you think that giving him another chance would make you vulnerable. You're right; it would. But what's more important to you Kurt? Keeping yourself safe, or pursuing happiness?"

Kurt sighed as he disconnected the call, leaving her question hanging in the air.

He indulged himself for a few moments; letting his mind meander over memories of Blaine that he had been trying to prevent himself from dwelling on.

"_Now I want to hear you sing."_

"_All I'm saying is you should paint. Do what makes you happy."_

"_If working for Julius makes you so miserable, then quit"_

"_I love you."_

He let Blaine's voice run through his head in a loop, savouring the remembered sound of his voice.

"Hummel! Get to work, those patterns are not going to draw themselves. If you want to come with me to Fashion Week next month, you better get your ass into gear."

Julius's voice cut through his thoughts, causing Kurt to startle. He almost turned back to his drawing but instead he found himself standing up and walking through the door of his office.

"Hummel? Where are you going? I need you here all night to proof the final collection!"

Kurt breezed past his boss with a confidence he had no idea how he mustered and called back over his shoulder in a way he had never dared to before,

"Not now Julius. I'm in pursuit of happiness!"

As he boarded the subway, Kurt felt the adrenaline start to wear off and he realized what he had done.

_Oh god, I can't believe I just said that to my boss._

He grasped the subway rail for support.

_What am I doing? He is so going to fire me. This is why you never ever listen to Rachel Berry. Only bad things come of it._

Trying to calm his racing heart, Kurt took deep breaths as he approached 54th Street. He turned around and changed his mind once at 51st, 52nd and 53rd before shaking his head at his childish behaviour.

Kurt turned the corner, and there he was.

The first thing Kurt noticed was that he was singing _beautifully. _

Then, he noticed how tired Blaine looked, and felt the familiar rush of guilt in his stomach. Of course he looked tired; he'd been sleeping on the streets.

Kurt noticed Ray sitting on a bench near Blaine with a dark haired girl he didn't recognize and he was momentarily thankful that Blaine had someone.

He waited impatiently for Blaine to finish the song, trying not to let his breath hitch as Blaine wrapped his voice around each high note perfectly. When the crowd around him had dispersed, he walked up to Blaine, hoping he looked more calm than he felt.

He still had no idea what he was doing, but as he walked, he heard Rachel's words again and knew he was doing the right thing.

"_What's more important to you, Kurt? Keeping yourself safe, or pursuing happiness?" _

He smiled awkwardly when Blaine looked up and caught his eye.

"Kurt?"

He felt the blood rushing to his head with the realization that he was hearing Blaine's voice again; that it wasn't just in his head.

"Hi."

He scolded himself as he realized he had no idea what he was trying to say. He must have sounded pretty dumb just waltzing up to him and saying 'hi'.

"What are you doing here?" Blaine asked quietly.

Kurt tried to answer but he could feel the gaze of the dark haired girl burning holes in his back.

"Can we walk?"

Blaine nodded once, and slung his guitar over his shoulder, placating the girl with a vague hand gesture.

They walked awkwardly, far enough apart so that there was no chance of their hands ever touching but, close enough that they could talk quietly. When neither of them spoke for a while, Blaine said,

"Rocky road or mint chocolate chip?"

It was enough. It was such a silly thing to say after everything, and yet it meant everything. Kurt grinned, just for a second, and the words came tumbling out.

"If you were anyone else, I would let you go. I would never have come back. But Blaine, something about you is different. I can't...let go."

Blaine just watched him intently as he spoke.

"Before you came along, I hadn't picked up a paintbrush in four years. I had completely abandoned the one thing that made me feel good about myself. But then, there you were, encouraging me, telling me I could, pushing me, making me _feel _things that I wanted to paint."

"And I know it sounds silly, that I'm standing here telling you that I want you back because of some paintbrushes...but it wasn't until you were gone that I realized what those paintbrushes meant."

He took a deep shaky breath, wondering if anything he was saying was making any sense.

"You taught me how to be happy again. Somehow, I had forgotten what it felt like. But being with you, _loving _you, made me happy again."

Blaine blew out a heavy breath through pursed lips and it pushed the curls off his forehead.

"I...I love you, Kurt. I do." He trailed off as he looked at the sidewalk.

Kurt's heart sank. "But?"

He watched Blaine grapple with his thoughts for what seemed like forever before he said, "Now that you know...what I am...I don't know if things can go back to the way they were before."

"Why not?" Kurt asked uneasily. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. Blaine was supposed to jump into his arms so he could smell him again and tangle his fingers in his hair. They were supposed to kiss and laugh and never let go. Not this.

"I...Kurt, this was the mistake I made with..." he swallowed hard, "Nathan. Our relationship wasn't one of equals. He had so much power over me. I need us to be equals Kurt, and we can't be. Not when I have nothing."

Kurt paused and thought about it for a moment. It wasn't as if he would ever abuse Blaine, not the way Nathan had. But he could see Blaine's point.

"Money isn't what makes people equal Blaine. It's about what you give and what you receive in a relationship."

Blaine couldn't help it. He snorted.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You are hopeless. I'm trying to be serious. What I meant was..."

Blaine held a finger up to Kurt's lips. "I know. I just don't ever want to be your charity case. I want to be your boyfriend. Your completely _honest_ boyfriend, if you'll give me the chance."

Kurt couldn't help it. He smiled.

Blaine smiled back and extended his hand to Kurt.

"Let me start as of right now. Blaine Anderson, 23, homeless guitar playing barista. I snore loudly and will probably always forget important dates like birthdays and anniversaries."

Kurt laughed and shook his hand.

"Kurt Hummel, 24, fashion design associate with a shopping addiction. I hog the covers and criticize your fashion decisions. I may even make you change before going out with me in public."

Blaine still looked uncertain. "Are you sure Kurt? You asked to me leave once, I can do it again. If you're not sure."

Kurt shook his head as he pulled Blaine closer to him and kissed him.

"Stay with me. I want you to stay."

* * *

><p><em><strong>4 months later<strong>_

Blaine was woken up by a man in his bed who wasn't Kurt.

He'd spent the evening before performing a low key gig at a bohemian bar in the Village. Kurt had accompanied him for what Kurt claimed was "a legitimate excuse to drown his work related sorrows in Pinot" but Blaine knew was actually just moral support.

They had gone home drunk at far too late an hour for a Thursday night, kissing and groping in the back of a cab. They'd somehow managed seven flights of stairs with only one painful stumble, and fallen into bed naked and attached at the hips.

So when Blaine was awoken by a strange man jumping onto the bed, he was groggy and more than a little confused.

"Kurt! We're here!"

Blaine let out a surprised yelp as the stranger bounced on the edge of the bed. He sat up and pulled the covers up higher around his waist.

"Who are you?" Blaine asked as he surveyed the tall stranger in his bed with alarm.

"Oh shit. You're not Kurt." He kept talking as he scrambled off the bed, "I'm uh...Finn. Kurt's brother...you must be Blaine."

Blaine grimaced. What a great first impression to make with Kurt's family. "Um...yeah I am. Nice to meet you."

"Good to meet you too, man." Finn was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, shifting from foot to foot.

"Um, Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we continue this conversation when I have some clothes on?"

Something seemed to click in Finn's head, "Oh yeah, sorry dude, no problem," he said as he retreated, closing the door behind him.

Blaine lay back for a moment and laughed. It wasn't exactly the way he had envisioned meeting Kurt's brother, but it could have been a lot worse.

He was extremely relieved that Burt hadn't been there too.

When Kurt had told him that his father and brother would be visiting New York and wanted to meet him, Blaine had felt a strange mixture of excitement and fear. Kurt had told him so much about Burt, the admiration and love always evident in his voice. He wanted to meet Burt, but more than anything he wanted Burt to like him.

He felt that it was essential for the most important person in Kurt's life to approve of him, but his motivations for wanting to impress Burt ran deeper, even if he was unwilling to admit it to himself.

Burt was his second chance at a father.

He disentangled himself from the sheets before throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He then flopped back down on the bed and dialled Kurt's number at work.

"Hey, you."

"Kurt, I just met your brother."

"What! They weren't supposed to come till tomorrow. Wait...why are you laughing?"

"I was naked."

* * *

><p>By the time Blaine got home, with his guitar slung over his shoulder, Kurt was already tucked into bed reading the New York Times in his pajamas.<p>

"Hey, where have you been?" Kurt asked gently as Blaine walked into the bedroom and flopped down at the foot of the bed.

He glanced at the clocked and cringed guiltily when he noticed it was nearly midnight. He hadn't even told Kurt where he was going when he left the house early in the afternoon.

"Sorry, I lost track of time. I was playing downtown." he answered, gesturing vaguely to his guitar.

Kurt nodded, but Blaine could tell from the expression on his face that he was confused. It wasn't like him to just disappear for an entire day without so much as a word.

He turned away from Kurt anyway, and ventured into the kitchen, stripping off his denim jacket and filling a glass with water at the sink.

All he wanted was to crawl into bed with Kurt and sleep for ages, but the anxiety settling in his chest prevented him.

He opened the window over the kitchen sink and breathed in the dewy April air for a moment, trying to push away the uneasiness.

His main motivation for his full day of street performing had been release.

Burt and Finn had left New York earlier that morning and Blaine had desperately needed to forget that the last couple of days had happened.

Music had always eased his pain.

So he had whiled the day away, drifting in and out of reality, wrapping himself in a blanket of harmony.

He'd soaked up the smiles of his listeners and just let the bad weekend roll off his shoulders.

But back in the apartment, in close proximity to Kurt and the fresh memories of his disastrous weekend with Burt, he could feel the anxiety gripping him once again.

Burt's words echoed in his mind; words overheard exchanged between father and son.

_How can you be sure?_

_What if he's using you?_

_Be careful._

He wandered into the bathroom, picking up a sponge that was resting on the edge of the sink.

When Kurt walked in later, Blaine hadn't even realized that nearly an hour had passed.

"Babe, what are you doing?" Kurt asked quietly as he surveyed Blaine.

Blaine looked up from his position on his knees on the bathroom floor, scrubbing the bath tub with a sponge.

He continued scrubbing anyway, trying to illicit some kind of relief from it.

He had picked up the habit months ago, when he had first moved in with Kurt. He paid some rent, what he could, but it was mere pennies compared to what it should be and he buried the guilt by contributing in other ways.

Sometimes he'd wash the dishes, or clean the bathroom; something small. But other times, when he felt in inequality between them tilting the ground beneath his feet, he'd scrub the entire kitchen floor on his hands and knees until his hands were raw and bleeding.

He heard Kurt shift behind him and he reached down, taking the sponge from Blaine's hand.

Kurt grimaced at the raw skin on Blaine's hands. "Hey, stop. Stop. We've talked about the cleaning. What's bothering you?"

Wanting to avoid this conversation, Blaine stood up and began cleaning the mirror with a piece of paper towel.

"Nothing. It's just really dirty in here. Thought I'd clean it up a little before I came to bed."

_He's homeless?_

_Not anymore, Dad_

_Kurt, how can you trust him?_

He felt Kurt place his hands on his hips and twist him around so they were face to face.

"Is this about this weekend?"

Blaine dropped his shoulders, fighting the urge to keep everything bottled up inside. In the months he had spent with Kurt, he had learned that it didn't help anything; that telling Kurt what was bothering him always helped.

"Yes."

"Hey, I know it didn't go perfectly, but they liked you. Finn wouldn't shut up about how cool he thought you were. And my dad likes you too. He just takes a while to warm up to any of my boyfriends." Kurt reassured him with a smile.

"Kurt, I heard what he said. You don't have to pretend."

Blaine felt Kurt deflate as he revealed that he had overheard the hushed conversation with his father.

"And he has every right to be concerned." Blaine mumbled as he picked up the sponge again and started scrubbing the bathtub again.

"He likes you. He just...I should have told him about...your past. I think it just took him by surprise and he was concerned. That's all. My dad will come around; he always does."

Blaine shot Kurt an incredulous look and continued cleaning despite his stinging palms.

He didn't want to think about it anymore. He didn't want to hear Burt's hurtful words ringing in his ears, he didn't want to dwell on yet another person he had disappointed.

"Kurt, what he said was true. I don't...you don't get anything out of this relationship. I feel like I'm your charity case. Or a sponge. All I do is take from you and I hate that. I _hate _it."

Kurt then did something Blaine didn't expect.

He climbed into the bathtub and lay down on his back.

"Come here." He motioned for Blaine to join him.

Blaine hesitated for a moment before setting down the sponge and climbing into the empty bathtub beside Kurt.

When the two were squished in tightly lying on their backs beside each other, Kurt spoke.

"Do you remember that night when we laid like this? In the rowboat in Central Park?"

Blaine nodded.

"Do you remember what I said to you?" Kurt asked as he turned his body towards Blaine's.

"You smell like coffee?" Blaine ventured.

Kurt shook his head.

"You're pretty?"

Kurt laughed. "Oh god, I did say that. But that's not what I meant. You asked me 'money or happiness?' and I told you happiness, of course."

"You make me happy, Blaine Anderson."

Blaine felt a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. He nuzzled his face into Kurt's neck and snuffled happily.

Kurt giggled. "You are such a puppy."

"But you hear what I'm saying, right? I chose happiness and you were the one who helped me do that."

"I know you think that you're a coward for running away. For running away from your parents, and your old life. For running away from Nathan. But Blaine, you are the bravest person I know. You were never running away. You were running towards something. You were running towards happiness. You were brave enough to break free of all those things that got in the way of your happiness and run towards the things that _would _make you happy. New York, your music...me."

Blaine looked at Kurt in wonder. "That's...I..."

"So excuse me if I'm not particularly concerned with my dad's rushed assumptions after spending two days with you."

Blaine's heart swelled in his chest. How could he have lost sight of that? Kurt loved him, and as long as that was true, it didn't matter who else did.

Kurt loved him.

He loved Kurt.

_Everything else is background noise._

"Hey, Kurt?"

"Mhmm?"

"Is that a new shirt?"

"No."

"Good." Blaine replied as he reached up and turned on the hot water spout on the bathtub, effectively soaking both of them.

Kurt shrieked in surprise when the water sprayed everywhere.

Blaine smiled devilishly as he climbed on top of Kurt, pressing his hips down on top of Kurt's and kissing up his neck.

"Good, because we're going to get wet."

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you liked! Thanks to everyone for their lovely reviews so far, they make me sooooo happy! Next chapter is already written so I'll update asap. <strong>


	8. Chapter 7

**Hi! So. WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS PORN. If you're not comfortable with porn or you're underage or whatever, skip this chapter and it won't affect your understanding of the story.**

**Rating for this chapter is R or maybe NC-17. I'll say the latter just to be safe, although it's kind of romantic sex and not too graphic in my experience. **

**Warnings: barebacking, anal sex, temperature play**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7 <strong>

It was as if everything was moving too fast.

Kurt whirled into the apartment with words tripping out of his mouth faster than Blaine could understand them.

"...and then he chewed me out in front of all the interns because _apparently_ tweed is not acceptable. Then he ranted for 10 minutes about the advantages of chiffon. I just...I can't even..." Kurt trailed off, dropping his things on the floor. Blaine watched him with concern from the couch.

Kurt had just returned from work and entered the apartment in a flurry of waving arms and angry words. Blaine would have been surprised if it hadn't been the fourth time that week.

Kurt huffed angrily from where he was spreading papers out across the kitchen table when Blaine spoke up.

"Hey, slow down. Come here." He said, reaching his arms out to Kurt.

"Can't. Work to do."

"Just for a minute."

Kurt dropped his papers and fell into Blaine's waiting arms before nuzzling his face into Blaine's chest and sighing heavily.

"Mmmnufgle." Kurt murmured into Blaine's shirt.

"I understand exactly." Blaine said with mock solemnity.

Kurt smacked him playfully. "What I was trying to say is that you smell really good. Like coffee."

"Ah, yeah I haven't showered since I got home from work."

"I'm sorry I've been such a brat lately. How was your day?" Kurt asked as he positioned himself on top of Blaine on the couch.

"Hot. Even with the air conditioning kicked up all the way, every time someone asked me to make them a latte I wanted to poke them in the eye with a fork."

Blaine didn't mention that the heat of Kurt's body on top of his wasn't helping him cool down at all, but he didn't want him to move. Even if he did feel like he was going to have a heat stroke.

Kurt started to climb off Blaine and he moaned in protest.

"Stay. You've been working all day. You need to relax." He waggled his eyebrows and Kurt just laughed.

"Nope. I have a million things to do for tomorrow or else Julius is going to serve my head on a silver platter and let the interns devour it while he watches for fun."

"That's...descriptive." Blaine chuckled.

"Well it's pretty damn accurate, too. I'm sorry, but I really have to work tonight. Can you turn up the air conditioning? At this temperature I might actually break into a sweat; which is _so_ not acceptable in this outfit."

"Slow and steady does _not _win the race, Blaine," he called as he walked into the kitchen.

Blaine wandered over to the thermostat, turning up the AC and then standing over one of the vents as cold air rushed up through it. He was only wearing a pair of cut off denim shorts and a blue v-neck t-shirt, but he was still sweltering.

Kurt always remarked how incredibly warm Blaine's body was, and in this weather he could feel it. In the winter, he appreciated the extra warmth, but with heat rising out of every crack and corner of New York City it wasn't exactly an advantage. It had been unseasonably hot and humid for New York in June and, stepping out into the smoggy city felt like stepping into a cloud.

Blaine puttered around the apartment, plucking absent-mindedly at the strings of his guitar and glancing at Kurt as he crouched over the kitchen table surrounded by his work.

Blaine was worried about him. He'd been stressed about work for weeks. He'd come home after too many hours at the office, muttering under his breath, staying up late into the night hunched over his laptop and getting up in the mornings before Blaine was even conscious. He had a thousand things going at once, and he was constantly moving at the speed of light.

Blaine had tried to ease him up a little; talk to him about it.

He had made a "too many balls in the air" joke that hadn't gone over too well.

After that, he stayed quiet for the most part. When it came to his job, Kurt had his mind made up; he didn't like it, but he was committed to it. So Blaine stayed silent as the sun set and the apartment darkened, hearing only the clacking on Kurt's fingers on the keyboard and the soft whirring of the air conditioner.

He glanced up at the ceiling when the lights flickered for a moment, leaving the apartment in darkness before humming back to life.

"That was weird," he said.

"They're probably having power shortages because of the heat. Everyone has their ACs cranked all the way up." Kurt replied before going back to typing furiously.

Blaine set down the guitar and flicked on the TV, more out of boredom than anything else. It was still strange to him, even after months of living with Kurt, to have things like TV. The hot water in the shower and the fridge full of food still felt like a luxury to him.

He'd settled on the news and silently wishing Kurt would quit working and come cuddle with him when suddenly the TV shut off. As did all the lights. Kurt's computer must have shut off too -Blaine could tell by the angry screech he heard from the kitchen.

Blaine couldn't help it. He laughed.

"Okay in there?" he called out.

Kurt let out a cry reminiscent of a roar and started gently banging his head against the table.

"Not tonight. Of all nights to have a power outage. Not tonight. I have too many things to do."

Blaine walked into the kitchen, feeling his way carefully in the complete darkness. He stumbled forward, catching his foot on a chair and swearing under his breath.

A light suddenly appeared before his eyes and he could see that it was the screen of Kurt's cell phone, illuminating almost nothing other than the faint outline of his boyfriend's face.

"You are so uncoordinated; I don't know how you ever survived the Warblers dance routines."

"I spent a large amount of that time just jumping on the furniture."

"Is that code for tripping over it?"

"Ha-ha. Well, you know, if I'm so clumsy, I might just you know, trip again and fall right-"

Blaine pretended to trip over Kurt's chair again, falling right into him, hands outstretched so they landed squarely on his crotch where he gave a playful squeeze.

"—here."

Kurt playfully batted his hand away. "I can't. I have to get this done or it'll be the end of my career."

He turned back to the table and started squinting at the pages on the desk by the light of his cell phone.

Blaine shook his head and walked around the kitchen uncertainly opening drawers. After some searching, he pulled out some candles and a lighter and lit as many as he could, dispersing them around the apartment.

It helped them to see where they were going, but it wasn't enough light for Kurt to get his work done by. Coupled with the fact that his laptop battery was dead, Blaine had one unhappy boyfriend on his hands.

He watched Kurt squint and curse for a couple more minutes before deciding to take action.

"Come here." He walked over to where Kurt was sitting and took his hands, pulling him up.

"Blaine, I told you. I can't. Stop." He said, distinctly irritated.

Blaine ignored him; this time he was sure that _he _knew what was best. He kept his grip on Kurt's hand as he made his way into the living room, pulling Kurt behind him. It was dark, aside from the dappled moonlight sifting in through the window and the flickering of candlelight. He threw open the window in an attempt to cool off the apartment which had become unbearably hot since the air conditioning shut off with the power.

Turning back to Kurt he said, "Listen. You can't get anything done until the power comes back on. Besides that, it is disgustingly hot." He wiped a drop of sweat off his forehead at this moment to emphasize his point, "so, you're going to relax for a bit. With me. And Ella."

"Ella?" Kurt asked, raising his eyebrows.

Blaine dropped Kurt's hands for a moment and walked over to the bookcase. He began rifling through the small collection of old vinyl records that he had been consistently adding to since he moved in with Kurt and had discovered the dusty record player tucked away in the corner. He didn't have much money to spare, but when he could he bought fifty cent records from the music store on the corner and waltzed around the living room while listening to them.

Kurt usually scoffed at him, but Blaine knew he secretly loved the thick scratchy sound of the records just as much as he did.

Blaine finally located the sleeve he was looking for and pulled it out, showing it to Kurt.

"Ella Fitzgerald, of course" he replied with a smile as he placed the record on the player.

"Since when have you and the First Lady of Song been on a first name basis?" Kurt chuckled.

Blaine crossed the room again, pulling Kurt into his chest. "Didn't you know? Lady Ella and I go waaaay back." He nuzzled his nose against Kurt's.

"Dance with me." He murmured.

"God, it's so hot. I wish the damn air conditioner was working... and you know I can't. I have to w-"

"Don't you even think about finishing that sentence, Kurt Hummel."

Blaine felt Kurt relax against him and knew he'd finally won. They swayed slowly to the music as the record crackled in the semi-darkness of the candlelit room.

Blaine breathed in deeply, revelling in the closeness of their bodies, pressed together and swaying and slowed by the thickness of the air and the heat of the summer evening.

Blaine sang softly along with the record,

_Someday when I'm awfully low_

_And the world is cold_

_I will feel a glow just thinking of you_

_And the way you look tonight _

He grinned cheekily at Kurt who was attempting to look unimpressed. He wasn't successful.

"You are so cheesy."

"I prefer the word romantic."

"So do I." Kurt agreed, pressing his lips against Blaine's.

Blaine's body responded before his mind did, reciprocating the touch of lips and tongue, and the pressure of Kurt's hips against his own.

He felt as if maybe, just for a moment, the world stopped. He thought it was probably a result of the black out; the darkened streets outside the window, the quietness of a city that had been filled with the humming of air conditioners silenced into flickering candlelight. But he revelled in it anyway, ignoring the heat in the apartment that was slowly becoming suffocating and feeling only the mounting heat between their bodies.

"Want you." Kurt murmured against his lips and Blaine was suddenly snapped from his blissful haze by the demands of his body.

He slipped his hands over the back pockets of Kurt's jeans and cupped his ass, yanking him even closer, eliminating what little space was left between them. Kurt let out a breathy moan against his lips in response and it made his already hard dick twitch inside his jeans.

Kurt rutted up against his leg as he continued to whisper against Blaine in a slightly raspy voice that made the stubble on his neck stand on end.

"Oh _god_, it's been so long."

Kurt had been so busy at work, and falling asleep as soon as he got home, that it'd been nearly a week since they'd had any sex at all. The realization sent him crashing into Kurt's lips once again, sucking hungrily on his bottom lip before hoisting Kurt's legs up around his waist.

Kurt squeaked in surprise as Blaine pulled him in, but he reacted quickly, wrapping his legs around Blaine's waist and pressing against him in a way that almost made Blaine drop him.

All Blaine could think was how much he _needed _Kurt. Immediately. Blaine started to stumble as fast as he could with Kurt latched around his waist towards the bedroom. He thanked god that Kurt never detached his lips from the vein in his neck he was sucking at.

As they crashed through the door to the bedroom, he felt his thighs start to shake with exertion and anticipation. He couldn't reach the bed fast enough, he was painfully hard and sweat soaked through his t-shirt. The combination wasn't exactly comfortable.

"_Blaine"_ Kurt muttered, groaning. He rutted against him again, pushing all thoughts of sweat and humidity from his mind.

He could still hear Ella singing in the background.

_There is nothing for me but to love you  
>And the way you look tonight<em>

He dropped Kurt onto the bed unceremoniously and as he made to climb on top of him, he tripped on the rug and fell on top of him.

Kurt let out a bark of laughter as they collapsed into a panting heap on the bed, the moment lost, at least temporarily.

Blaine lay still on top of Kurt's heaving chest for a moment, painfully aware of the blood surging through his veins, his cock twitching in his pants and his sweat dripping onto Kurt.

He felt Kurt exhale beneath him. "It's too fucking hot for this. I can barely breathe."

"That may have something to do with me lying on top of you." Blaine said, rolling off him.

He was annoyed that the lack of air conditioning had put a damper on their plans but he had to admit; Kurt was right. It was so hot, just the short trip from the living room to the bedroom had left them both breathless and exhausted.

He groaned in frustration, briefly palming his erection through his jeans.

Kurt exhaled before sitting up beside him.

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

Blaine lay stretched out on his back, listening to the sound of Kurt blowing out candles in the next room and padding towards the kitchen.

When he returned a minute later, he was carrying a tall glass filled with ice. Blaine gave Kurt a questioning look.

Kurt walked towards the bed, speaking softly, "Maybe we just have to...take our time."

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." Kurt began, reaching out to peel Blaine's soaking t-shirt off of him. "It's too hot for me to fuck you hard and fast like I want to, but I think we should take it..." he pulled the shirt over Blaine's head, "really..." he climbed onto Blaine's chest, straddling him, "slow."

Blaine reached up and started undoing the buttons of Kurt's shirt one by one, struggling not to let his fingers shake. Slowly, as though every movement was under water, they undressed each other, Kurt still straddled across Blaine's chest.

Kurt fished an ice cube from the glass and with a mischievous grin, started to trace it down his chest.

Blaine felt his body react instantly to the ice against his hot skin. He arched up into Kurt, feeling the weight of Kurt's cock pressed against his chest and the faint sting of the ice across his skin.

Kurt slid down from his sitting position so that he was stretched out flat against Blaine. Still holding the dripping ice cube, he brought it back up and traced it delicately across one of Blaine's nipples.

He felt them harden instantly against the numbing cold and he bit his lip to keep himself from yelping. Kurt grabbed another ice cube as the first one melted completely in his hands and repeated the process on Blaine's other nipple.

He then dipped his head and sucked on the little nub of flesh, just scraping his teeth over the tip as he pulled his mouth off.

Blaine swore and bucked up into Kurt, the contrast of the numb cold and the warmth of Kurt's mouth too much for him.

"Fuck, Kurt"

Kurt smiled, shifting the weight of his body again, tracing the ice over Blaine's hipbones, and then slowly, over his cock.

The first contact of the ice against the side of his cock made Blaine twitch and squirm underneath the pressure of Kurt's arms.

"Slow," Kurt repeated, his voice husky and broken.

"No," Blaine moaned, desperately trying to break free of Kurt's hold and get some of the friction he needed so badly.

He continued to trace the ice over the veins in Blaine's cock, bringing the cube slowly over the tip and back again.

Blaine was panting. He could feel the sweat trickling down his forehead, sticking his curls in place, dripping. The heat of Kurt's body was too much, but it felt so good. The ice against his painfully hard cock was pure torture. He didn't know how much longer he could stand it.

"Kurt—I-" he managed to choke out between breaths.

"Patience." Kurt replied, taunting him.

Even though Kurt's voice was teasing, and calm, Blaine could see in his face that he was reaching his breaking point too.

The next few moments passed by in agonizing slow motion. The heat and darkness of the apartment made every action feel as if it was underwater; careful, measured.

Blaine was acutely aware of Kurt's hot, gasping breaths against his neck as he slid, one...two...three fingers inside of him. He moved into the contact, desperate and needy.

He felt the stretch and the pull deep inside of him, and then the pleasure. He was practically vibrating with need as Kurt removed his fingers and lined himself up against Blaine, their hot skin sticking against one another.

The feeling of being underwater was magnified by the fact that Kurt's voice was deep and low, dripping with need.

"I'm going to fuck you now." Kurt breathed against the back of his neck, hot and quiet.

He could only moan in response, reaching out to touch any part of Kurt he could get a hold of. His hands found Kurt's ass as Kurt pressed up against him.

When Kurt entered him, easing in, Blaine cried out brokenly. The combination of sensations was almost too much. His hand wrapped around his aching cock, still numb with cold and throbbing. At the same time, he was so hot that beads of sweat were rolling from his hair, down his nose and onto the sheets below him. And, best of all, Kurt was inside him, burying himself deep and slow and Blaine just wanted to ride the wave of sensations forever.

The room was completely dark, so he couldn't see Kurt behind him, but he could feel him, every move he made intensified by the slow deliberateness of it. After the first thrust, accompanied by a strangled keen from the back of Kurt's throat, each thrust was harder and accompanied by droplets of sweat dripping off Kurt and falling onto Blaine's bare back.

Blaine didn't know how Kurt found the self control, but he pulled himself out slowly each time, inch by inch, drawing out each moment of feeling before he thrust back in again, hard and rough.

Time stopped.

Blaine saw only blackness, smelled only sweat, felt only fullness, and heat; achingly slow. They carried on like that as long as they could, because as torturous as it was to draw it out, every moment they savoured the pleasure together was a good one.

But soon enough, Kurt was keening above him and getting shaky from the effort of controlling himself, his muscles giving way, his nails digging a little too deep into the skin on Blaine's back as he tried to hold back.

Blaine knew the feeling, because it was coursing through his veins as well, coiling in his stomach.

"Kurt" he croaked out. "Kurt," he repeated, more insistently.

Kurt grunted in response, his thighs shaking around Blaine.

"Come for me." Blaine managed, half spoken, half groaned.

"Fuck, Blaine, ohgod, yes-"

It was all Kurt needed. He gave one, two more hard thrusts that sent a shower of sweat flying everywhere before his entire body went rigid and Blaine could feel him coming inside him.

The sound that escaped his lips was what finished Blaine off, loud and desperate and clawing at his back.

Blaine came hard and he rode his orgasm for as long as he could as he came all over the sheets.

They collapsed and lay intertwined with each other, both panting heavily in the pitch black. Blaine could feel the heat of Kurt's body radiating beside him, and he could feel the sheets beneath him wet with melted ice, come and sweat.

When he finally regained control of his limbs, Blaine reached over Kurt to where some of the ice was still frozen in the glass. He popped a piece into his mouth and kissed Kurt with icy lips, who grinned into it.

Outside the window, the city was quiet and dark. A cicada hummed in the distance and the world, for a moment, was slow.


	9. Chapter 8

**A.N: Hi guys! Sorry it took me so long to update, but I'm done school now so hopefully I'll be able to bang out to end of this fic pretty fast. If any of you are still here and reading, just know that I love you, you all have the patience of angels and thank you from the bottom of my heart :)**

**Chapter 8**

Kurt walked into the bedroom to discover Blaine with his head hanging out the window.

"...Are you sticking your head out the window in a rainstorm in lieu of taking a shower?"

Blaine laughed, still half hanging out the window. "I just love smell of rain on hot asphalt."

Kurt eyed him skeptically. He reminded him of one of those dogs who liked to stick their head out the windows of cars.

"Hey," said Blaine, noticing Kurt's expression. "Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my parade."

Kurt walked over to the window and gently pulled Blaine inside, closing the window while reciting, "The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plane."

"I'm singing in the rain, just siiinging in the rain." Blaine countered.

"You, got me caught in all this mess, I guess, we can blame it on the rain." Kurt sang back, intent on winning their impromptu sing-off.

"I don't feel any pain, a little fall of rain, can hardly hurt me now" Blaine intoned, quoting Les Mis.

"Can't you see that it's just raining, ain't no need to go outside." Singing a line from Jack Johnson's _Banana Pancakes._

Blaine blew the damp curls off his forehead and raised his hands in defeat. "I'm out of lyrics. You win!"

"Hah!" Kurt grinned triumphantly. He turned and grabbed a towel off the back of the chair, using it to dry off Blaine's wet hair.

Blaine shook his head, spraying Kurt with water.

"Hey!" Kurt recoiled from the spray. "Don't be a sore loser."

Blaine grinned, "Me? Never." He said, feigning offence.

"Come on, I came in here to get you for a reason. I want to show you something." Kurt clasped Blaine's hand and pulled him from the bedroom.

They walked into the living room and Kurt stood Blaine in front of his painter's easel.

"Does this mean I finally get to see this secret painting you've been working on?" Blaine asked, gesturing to the canvas on the easel that was covered with a large drop cloth.

Kurt nodded before pulling off the cover and waiting with baited breath as Blaine surveyed the canvas.

Kurt watched as Blaine put on his serious art critic face as he scanned the painting he had never been allowed to see before.

His stomach lurched as he recognized the expression of recognition take over Blaine's face.

"This is-" Blaine turned to Kurt in astonishment.

Kurt nodded, a smile playing on his lips as Blaine turned back to the painting, not seeming to believe his eyes.

The painting had taken him over a month to complete, even with squeezing painting in at every possible spare moment after work and before breakfast.

He had laboured over every line, every hair, each eyelash.

It was a portrait of Blaine and himself, foreheads pressed together and hands intertwined.

But what had Blaine's attention wasn't their perfectly painted faces or the delicate brushstrokes that made up their intertwined fingers, but the small strips of gold that Kurt had painted around the ring finger of each of their left hands.

"Is this..." he was still gaping, open mouthed at the oil painting.

Kurt laughed, amused by his apparent inability to form a sentence. He took Blaine's hands in his own and gently steered his gaze from the painting to meet his eyes.

"I know that right now is probably the worst possible time to be talking about this, what with you looking into going back to school and me, spending 18 hours a day at the office, but I couldn't help it. The thing practically painted itself. I couldn't get it out of my head."

"Kurt," Blaine breathed out in awe.

"And I know that when we talked about this, you said that when we did get around to marriage, you wanted to wait until you could afford to buy me a ring yourself, so I didn't buy a ring for you. But I am hoping that you'll accept this painted version. At least temporarily, as a promise."

Tears were falling freely down Blaine's face by this point.

Kurt reached out and wiped them away, ignoring the burning of his own eyes.

"Until we're ready for the real thing. This painting is me...promising you that-" Kurt choked on his words, unable to continue as the tears that had been threatening to fall started to run down his cheeks.

Blaine picked up where he left off, "That one day, you'll be my husband."

Kurt nodded mutely, kissing Blaine fiercely and clinging to his neck.

Blaine let out a shaky breath as they pulled apart, both half laughing, half crying.

"It is so..._so _beautiful, Kurt."

Kurt smiled, basking in his praise.

"Except..."

He raised his eyebrow questioningly as Blaine trailed off.

"Yes?" Kurt asked.

"Am I really that short?"

"Oh shut up!" Kurt laughed, smacking Blaine on the arm playfully. "You are a moment-ruiner. You know that?"

"Don't even get me started on how big you made your own biceps. I think we may need to have a talk about the size of your ego, Mr. Hummel."

* * *

><p>Kurt still worked too much.<p>

They started fighting after he collapsed the first time.

The doctors told them it was just a case of severe exhaustion, but Blaine was sick with worry anyway.

He fussed over Kurt for days after, and Kurt soon grew weary of it and insisted he needed to go back to work.

Blaine tried to reason with him, begging him to take some more time off, or consider switching jobs. The stress of working under Julius was taking a toll on his body, and now their relationship.

The fighting got worse the second time Kurt collapsed.

It was early in the evening in the month of September and Kurt was back at his laptop.

"Can you please just take one more day off?" Blaine pleaded as he watched Kurt work.

"Blaine," Kurt began, sounding more impatient than ever, "we've talked about this. I can't miss any more days. Things are piling up."

Blaine wasn't about to give up this time though.

"Honey,"

Kurt raised his eyebrows, knowing that Blaine only ever used that term of endearment when he was trying to butter him up.

"You don't even _like_ your job and you're killing yourself over it." Blaine pleaded.

Kurt gave up trying to pay attention to what was on his laptop and glared at Blaine. They'd had this conversation one too many times.

"I make good money at that job. It's in fashion, which I happen to enjoy. It pays the bills...for both of us." He added as an afterthought.

Blaine recoiled at his icy tone, but pressed on anyway. "Kurt, Kurt please listen to me." He walked over to where Kurt was sitting and placed his hands on top of his.

Kurt pulled his glasses off and looked up at Blaine expectantly. "Yes?"

"Remember when you told me that if you could do anything you wanted, you'd open your own art gallery? On the Upper West Side?"

"Yes, but-"

"No, listen. I know you think it's just a silly dream, but it doesn't have to be. Don't you see? It could be real. You could paint and work with other artists, own your own gallery and just spend your days marking art."

"Blaine," Kurt began impatiently, standing up and pulling his hands out from underneath Blaine's.

"I just don't see why you would spend your life working for that awful man, doing something that makes you so miserable. You should do what you love."

He gestured to the painting of them that was now hanging on the wall. "You are amazing. You're good enough to really go places, Kurt."

Kurt laughed sharply. "Painting is not a career, Blaine. It's a hobby. It doesn't pay for these clothes or this apartment or for the electricity, the groceries..." he ticked things off on his fingers as he turned his back to Blaine and walked away.

Blaine exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't know why Kurt always shut him down when they tried to have this conversation. He needed him to understand, he needed him to listen.

He couldn't bear to see him wind up in the hospital again.

"Please, don't walk away." He called after Kurt as he followed him into the bedroom.

"If you're worried about me being stressed, then arguing with me probably isn't the best way to remedy that." Kurt snapped.

Kurt looked up and searched Blaine's face for a moment. "I know I sound cold. But I have responsibilities."

Blaine could hear the pleading note in his voice.

"Living in New York is expensive. I still have debt from college and I want to make sure that if anything ever happened to my dad, that I could help him out. Not all of us have the luxury of not having to worry about anyone but themselves."

It was Blaine's turn to laugh derisively. "Luxury? Tell me you're not implying that the fact that my family _disowned _me is a luxury. You wouldn't."

Kurt rubbed his eyes as he spoke, "No, I just, recognize that I can't be like you. My job allows you to sit around all day and write songs and make music okay?"

Blaine froze. "I...you...is that really what you think I do? I didn't think I was such a burden to you." He snapped, spinning around and heading back into the kitchen.

He could hear Kurt sigh heavily and start to follow him but he didn't care. He kept walking, trying to keep the edges of his vision from blurring with anger.

This wasn't how this conversation was supposed to have gone.

He stormed into the kitchen and turned on the sink, piling dirty dishes into it.

"You know that's not what I meant." Kurt said from behind him.

He continued piling the dishes into the sink, ignoring the fact that the water was scalding his hands.

"Blaine, come on, don't be like this." Kurt tried again.

Blaine scrubbed at a plate, submersing his hands in the burning hot water.

"I don't need your money." He mumbled.

"Blaine, let's be practical here. You work at Starbucks. That doesn't exactly go a long way when we pay the bills okay? And I'm not holding that against you, but I can't quit my job. We both need me to keep working."

"I don't care!" Blaine cried, dropping the plate into the sink with a loud splash.

"Don't you see? I don't care about any of it! I don't care about this apartment or nice clothes or being able to afford all those stupid restaurants. We could move, we could live somewhere less expensive, so you could pursue your art. Anything, anything so I don't have to watch you _kill _yourself every day."

"That's just it, isn't it?" Kurt's icy tone contrasted with Blaine's raised voice. "You have to _watch_ me kill myself every day. You don't have to actually do the work, you're not the one up all hours of the night slaving away. This doesn't affect you! It's my life, and it's my choice."

"I thought we were supposed to be sharing our lives? Isn't that how a relationship is supposed to work? It's not just about you!" Blaine retorted angrily.

"Are you honestly accusing me of being selfish? After everything I've done for you? Have you forgotten that I let you live here when you had nowhere to go? Or that I forgave you when you lied to me? That I offered to help you pay to go to college? How dare you accuse me of being selfish!"

"But I'm telling you I don't need you to do those things for me anymore! I just need you to do what makes you happy."

"Don't be naive." Kurt spat. "I honestly think you live in some dreamland where everything just magically works out. Well guess what Blaine? It doesn't! If I quit, we won't live happily ever, making art and music and living in sweet harmony with nature! This is reality, and it would be nice if you got in touch with it every once and a while. We wouldn't be happy, we'd be homeless!"

"God forbid," Blaine said sarcastically.

"Yes! God forbid! Not all of us want to live on the streets. Face it, one of us has to be the responsible one, one of us has to keep a roof over our heads and its sure as hell not you."

"If I'm that much of a burden to you, then why don't you ask me to leave? If I'm such a disappointment in comparison to the fabulous Kurt Hummel then just ask to me go! I don't need you to take care of me Kurt."

"Fine! If my generosity is such a chore for you, then go! Leave if you want to." Kurt yelled out, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

Blaine's hands were shaking at his sides. His head was swimming. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe.

"Fine."

When he finally spoke, the word came out quieter than he'd expected and seemed to echo in the silence that suddenly filled the apartment.

He whirled around and snatched his jacket off the couch. He then picked up his guitar.

Kurt turned white.

"No, no" he was suddenly frantic.

"No, Blaine, that's not what I meant. You know that's not what I meant." He reached out for Blaine's arm but Blaine jerked it away.

"Stop." He said firmly, suddenly filled with calm.

"Blaine, no, don't. It's night time, don't go. You shouldn't be out there alone." Kurt was trying to grab onto any piece of Blaine that he could as he walked out of the apartment.

"God, please don't leave. Where will you go? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't-" he grabbed onto Blaine's arm again with frantic fingers.

Blaine turned to look at him and saw that his eyes were filled with tears. He kept his expression neutral. He needed to leave, he couldn't stay.

He would always be nothing in Kurt's eyes.

"Let. Me. Go." He spoke so firmly that Kurt automatically detached his hands from Blaine's arm.

Blaine whirled around again, walking through the door with his guitar in hand. As he started down the stairs he could still hear Kurt calling,

"Blaine! Blaine, come back. Please, Blaine, Blaine..."

He didn't turn back.

* * *

><p>Kurt called Rachel in tears.<p>

"I know this isn't what you want to hear, but he'll be fine." She cooed into the phone.

"Rachel, he's out there all alone in the middle of the night. In New York City. He could get mugged or hurt or..."

"He's done it a few times before Kurt, one night isn't going to hurt. And in the morning he'll come back and you guys will make-up. You always do."

"I told him he'd never have to spend another night on the streets. I promised him." Kurt choked out between sobs.

"Oh sweetie, it's okay. Shhh, he'll be back soon I'm sure."

"I was awful, I said awful things to him. He'll probably never come back."

"Don't be silly, you two are madly in love."

"Last time he was out there, he got so sick, he, he..." Kurt trailed off.

"That was in January, Kurt. It's September now and it's warm. He'll be fine. He probably just needs some space to cool off."

"I was right though wasn't I?" Kurt asked meekly once he had been assured Blaine would be okay.

Rachel didn't respond.

"Wasn't I? He wasn't being practical, Rach."

"I don't know." She admitted.

"I'm going to go." Kurt said softly.

"Okay. Call me in the morning okay?"

"Mhm." He replied, tapping the screen and ending the call.

He picked himself up slowly off the floor, feeling utterly at a loss for what he should do.

He opened the fridge four times before ascertaining that he wasn't hungry.

He thought about finishing the dishes Blaine had left in the grimy water in the sink, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

He picked up his coat and keys and was headed out the door when he realized that looking for Blaine was a stupid idea. He could be anywhere.

Besides that, he wasn't sure what he would say to him when he saw him again.

Was he sorry?

Or had he meant every word he said?

He wasn't sure.

His head pounded but he didn't want to sleep yet. He flipped open his laptop, idly scrolling through pages of work notes without really reading a single word.

He looked over his electronic calendar, checking to see if he had any appointments for the next day. His eyes found the box circled in red that said "TODAY" in big letters. September 10th, 2001.

He eyed the square on the calendar miserably, wondering if he would always remember that day for years to come as the day he lost Blaine.

The box for tomorrow, he noted, was mercifully blank except for a dentist appointment.

What Kurt never could have known was that the very next morning, at exactly 9:59am on September 11th 2001, the first tower would fall.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Hi guys! So I'll just put a huge disclaimer/warning on this chapter. Trigger warning for 9/11. I also just want to put it out there that I was only about 12 when 9/11 actually happened, and I'm not American. Even regardless of all of that, I obviously never could do justice to such a tragedy, especially in fanfic. I took a lot of liberties when writing this in terms of what could realistically happen and the way it actually occurred. I'm sorry if this offends/hurts anyone, my intent is only to place the characters in the midst of the event, and not to make light of the event or the real victims of it. Love you all as usual, your reviews make my day, so enjoy :)**

"Deep pockets, my friend. That is the key." Cecily called to Blaine.

Blaine rolled his eyes at her and Ray remained silent as he strolled beside him.

"Central Park is good and all, but usually you're going to get people with coins in their pockets." She continued talking as she scoped out the forbidding skyscraper in front of them for a good place to busk.

"Around here, these people are so rich, they don't even _have _coins! You know what they have in their pockets Blainers my boy?"

Blaine shrugged, only half listening to her. He was pretty sure she was high as a kite.

"I'm going to go see if I can bum some change on the next block." Ray called to them as he turned to walk away. Blaine knew he couldn't stand it when Cecily was like this. He worried about her too much.

"Fifty dollar bills! Twenties, tens. Bills are your friend B-bear."

Blaine cocked his head, "Why is it that when you're high as fuck you always call me the most ridiculous names?"

Cecily sat down beside Blaine as he took out his guitar and she put on her best innocent face. "Why, I have no idea what you're talking about, Plain Blaine."

"Stop."

"My my, we're a little _testy _today aren't we, Sir Blaine Andersperm."

Blaine snorted. "You did not just make a pun about balls and hey, I'm allowed to be testy okay."

"'Scuse me, but you two pretty peacocks need to get your shit together because you and Kurt are endgame. _Endgame_." She repeated with a dramatic wave of her arms.

Blaine snorted.

"This from the girl who was just waiting to say I told you so when he dumped me."

Blaine noticed that Cecily's loud proclamations were attracting them a few strange looks from the passing businessmen.

"Fifty dollar bills, my ass." Blaine muttered.

"Your ass!" Cecily cried out. "Your ass is exactly the reason you should get back together with Kurt, Mr. Bottom Blaine."

"Wow, okay, no." Blaine turned bright red. "I only told you that because I was extremely drunk, you are not allowed to call me that."

"Extremely drunk my arse," she repeated in a terrible British accent. "You had like, two beers that night. Besides, no one cares if you like to take it up the bum, Blainey-kins."

"It's a free country, therefore you are free to be as ass-tacular as you please. You know what I always say: an orifice is an orifice. We shouldn't discriminate. This is America."

"Oh my god." Blaine buried his face in his hands as more people shot them dirty looks.

"I have a dream..." she began dramatically.

"Please god, no." Blaine began.

"I have a dream, that my children will live in a nation where they will not be judged by whether they top or bottom, but by how loudly they can make their partners scream! "

"Martin Luther King is rolling over in his grave."

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal... some just like cock a lot more than others."

"You know what? I'm just going to start playing now and hope it drowns you out, okay?"

"Whatever you say, Bulge-asaurus. Sing your little heart out, Tricera-TOPS. No wait, that's Kurt."

Blaine decided to start playing instead of engaging with her. He played easy standards, too preoccupied to focus on anything other than the songs his hands knew by heart.

He hadn't been thinking when he walked out on Kurt. He had just been angry. Now that he had the night to settle into his feelings though, he was still hurt. It wasn't the first time they had had the argument, it was just the furthest they had ever taken it.

He had really thought that they were going to be happy. Forever. But this seemed to be a hurdle they just couldn't clear. No matter how many times they talked about it, they could never seem to agree on the subject of money.

Kurt wasn't shallow; that wasn't the issue. He just liked security. He was accustomed to a certain standard of living, and he was afraid of losing it.

Blaine on the other hand, knew what it felt like to have absolutely nothing. He knew that they would be okay, as long as they had each other.

Kurt just wasn't ready to make that leap.

He sighed heavily as he shifted his fingers into the familiar patterns against the neck of his guitar; he realized he had been singing without even thinking.

Even though it was early in the morning, the corner where they had set up was filled with people bustling about. They were in the business district, as Cecily had so crassly pointed out, and everywhere Blaine looked he saw men and women in suits and heels, talking on cellphones and sipping coffee.

He felt out of place. He usually avoided areas of town like this for that exact reason. He didn't need the judgmental stares. But Cecily had insisted that they would pull in the most money here, just a building over from the World Trade Center.

Cecily was now lying on her back on a bench near Blaine with her arms tossed over her eyes.

"Coming down Cec?" Ray called to her as he walked up, back from his excursion.

She grumbled in response.

"You doing okay, Blaine?" Ray asked quietly as he stood next to Blaine, looking at him earnestly from underneath his bushy eyebrows.

Blaine smiled sadly at him. "Yeah, Ray. I'll be okay."

Ray looked at him skeptically.

Blaine knew he saw right through his brave facade. "Kurt and I were always on borrowed time anyway. It was only a matter of time before the real world caught up with us."

"Bullshit." Ray muttered as he spat on the sidewalk. "You go back there and work this out with him."

"It's not that easy, Ray."

"Hey, sorry to break up this heartwarming Dr. Phil moment, but can you two keep it down? I'm trying to keep my brain from exploding over here." Cecily whined from her spot curled up on the bench.

"That's what ya get for that nasty habit of yours." Ray admonished.

Cecily stuck her tongue out at him before rolling off the bench. "I'm seriously going to puke up rainbows if I have to listen to any more of this fluffy shit, so I'm off. You two ladies have a nice heart to heart, I'm going to go curl up in a hole somewhere and die." She said as she rubbed her eyes furiously, smudging black eyeliner down her cheek.

They waved as she walked away before Ray turned back to Blaine.

"I don't think the problem is Kurt. I think it's you."

"Excuse me?" said Blaine.

"You've always had it in your head that you aren't good enough for him. It was the same way with Nathan. Because of your goddamned ass backwards parents, you've got this mistaken idea that you ain't any good, and that's just plain wrong."

Blaine gaped open mouthed for a moment. "I..."

"No, you listen here youngin' and you listen good. You gotta stop believing that you don't deserve to be happy. Just because you've lived this life, and seen a lot of bad things, doesn't make you a bad person. It doesn't make you less. If anything, it makes you more. You're tougher and stronger and smarter for it. So quit gettin in the way of your own happiness youngin'".

"Ray," Blaine began before he noticed that something was wrong.

People all around them were talking and pointing towards the sky. Something had caught the attention of the business people, usually oblivious to the world around them. But Blaine noticed that several people had stopped in their tracks and were pointing upwards.

He barely had time to recognize that the shape in the air was a low flying plane before it hit.

Ray and Blaine stood paralyzed as people around them started to scream and run. Blaine couldn't understand what was happening. He couldn't think, he couldn't move.

Suddenly smoke filled the air, the cries of people all around them mixed with the sound of cracking, crumbling, confusion. Pieces of the building where the plane had hit were falling, smoke and flame engulfing the plane that was embedded in the side of the tower.

Blaine didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. They were standing directly in the path of the falling rubble that was breaking off the tower and hurtling towards them.

Blaine had only one thought before everything went black.

_Good bye._

* * *

><p>Cecily was a few blocks away when the plane hit.<p>

For a moment, she thought it was all part of the elaborate hallucinations she experienced while high.

But the pounding in her head told her differently.

No, she was sober now. This was really happening.

She didn't know how long she stood there just staring at the plane embedded in the side of the World Trade Center tower.

It crossed her mind that it was almost pretty. The orange flame against the blue morning sky was a bright contrast, accented by the clouds of black smoke billowing from the tower.

It was only the screams of people in the streets that brought her back to reality.

_Blaine, Ray. _

They had been standing right underneath the building.

She ran.

She sprinted the few blocks, racing as fast as her smokers lungs would allow her.

People were swarming everywhere, and she pushed and squirmed to get to the spot where Blaine had been playing.

The air was thick with smoke and the police were already closing off the area around the building.

"Blaine! Blaine!" she found herself screaming his name, her voice hoarse and high pitched.

"Blaine! Ray!" she pushed forward even further, despite the force of the crowd pushing her backwards.

Everywhere, police and firefighters were trying to get people away from the building and under control.

Her screams were lost in the ruckus of people all around her, calling out names, crying, screaming.

"Blaine!" she called out desperately again as a police officer pushed her backwards. When she refused to be budged, he had to forcibly put his hands on her shoulders and shift her back.

Just as she was about to push back against the officer, she saw it and all the fight was knocked out of her.

Lying on the ground amongst the rubble was a smashed half of Blaine's guitar.

She stopped screaming. She stopped panicking. She stopped trying.

She vomited on the sidewalk.

An otherworldly calm settled over her and she knew.

She knew what she had to do. She turned in the opposite direction and despite her protesting lungs and shaking legs, she started to run.

Upon seeing the guitar, only one thought occupied her mind.

_I have to find Kurt._

* * *

><p>That very morning, Kurt woke up on the couch in the living room.<p>

He grimaced as he cracked his neck, attempting to rub out the stiffness from spending a night on the couch.

Blaine would get it out for him, he gave the best massages.

But then he remembered, Blaine wasn't there to rub his neck. That was the reason he was sleeping on the couch in the first place. Blaine wouldn't walk in, smelling like coffee and holding the morning paper. He was gone.

The realization settled in his stomach and Kurt groaned, pulling himself off the couch.

He felt like shit, and all he wanted to do was curl back up on the couch and hide under a blanket for the day, but he decided to push through the urge to wallow and do something productive.

He decided to go for a run, and hope that the endorphins got him through most of the day.

As he walked towards the bedroom to change, he passed by the window and stopped dead in his tracks.

A black patch darkened the otherwise blue sky of the New York skyline.

There was smoke circling the World Trade Center towers.

His stomach dropped. What was going on?

He quickly shuffled back into the living room where he flipped on the TV to CNN.

Even after watching the coverage for several minutes, he still didn't understand.

He watched the somber looking news anchors repeat the same information over and over again.

Even they looked confused.

All Kurt could comprehend was that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center that morning around 8:45.

He lowered himself onto the couch when he realized his knees were shaking.

Suddenly, violently, he needed Blaine. He needed to see him, hold him, feel him.

Where was Blaine?

Surely he'd be home soon.

* * *

><p>Consciousness was a curse. It was strange how he swam toward it, struggling, pushing against the black mass of unknown; but as soon as he broke the surface of quiet calm into consciousness, he regretted it. Consciousness was pain. Nothing else.<p>

Blaine struggled against the darkness, trying to grasp anything other than pain. Everything beyond the edges of the pain was murky, like vision underwater, or slurred, like speech and alcohol.

Pain was the only constant, and he found himself sadistically clinging to it. It was at least some semblance of sanity in his murky dream between consciousness and the unknown. So he clung to it. When his mind stopped reeling, he tried to connect the pain to his body; if indeed he still had a body. But it seemed to be more engulfing than anything, too vast to connect with any one part of himself.

Without much hope of success, Blaine tried again to place the pain in something real, something corporeal, but body parts (their names and locations) seemed to be beyond his minds reach. He tried another track. How had he come to be here? What was here? When was here? But time, space, location, all eluded him.

The first thing he was able to grasp was a smell. It was acrid, tangy and burning. Every breath he took in was painful, thick and smoky.

Blaine could feel unconsciousness dragging him down again, and he struggled against it. He couldn't shake the feeling that if he closed his eyes, he wouldn't be able to open them again. He pushed against the crushing pain that was threatening to engulf him.

His body was giving out and the blackness started to creep up on the edges of his vision. Just as he finally lost consciousness, he realized the source of his pain with a flash of panic.

The neck of his guitar was embedded in his abdomen.


	11. Chapter 10

**Short chapter guys, and just warning you, the next update will be the last! Also for those who are curious, near the end of this chapter is where the material from the prologue fits in :) **

**Chapter 10**

Kurt was narrowly avoiding a panic attack.

_Don't be silly_

_Don't be irrational_

_Don't panic_

Blaine could be a thousand places in the city.

He wasn't in any danger.

He was fine.

Still, he was barely suppressing the urge to scream.

Kurt had spoken briefly with his neighbours, who had informed him that most of the cellphone networks were overloaded and not working. So he sat impatiently, waiting for a call that wouldn't come. All he could do was wait for Blaine to come home.

He watched the news coverage, even though it was sparse at best. Some of the local networks were running a broadcast, but they were all scrambling for information, experiencing technical difficulties and generally frenzied. They were saying it was a terrorist attack. Kurt buried his head in the couch cushions for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around it.

Their fight from the previous night seemed so trivial in the light of all that had happened. Kurt ached. If he hadn't been so stubborn, Blaine would be here right now instead of out there somewhere in a city filled with chaos.

He attempted calling Rachel a couple times from his landline, but her cell was unreachable as he expected. He wasn't particularly worried about her, she would never have been anywhere near the WTC anyway. She had a predictable pattern of travel around the city that usually only involved the theater district and uptown. It would be nice to hear from her, though.

He busied himself making a few calls to a few other friends in the city that he could reach, just to make sure they were okay. He avoided mentioning Blaine. He paced around once he had finished making his calls, unable to sit still.

Why hadn't Blaine called? He had to know that Kurt would be worried. Their fight wouldn't have prevented him from coming home or at least calling from a payphone.

He was standing by the window staring at the smoky sky when a knock on the door nearly startled him out of his skin.

His sock feet slipped across the hardwood floor as he raced to the door.

_Blaine. _

He turned the door handle and came face to face with a girl that looked vaguely familiar.

_Of course, Blaine wouldn't have knocked._

He knew this, but still felt unreasonably disappointed.

The girl was panting hard and had her hands on her knees, bent over in front of her. She had dark eye makeup running down her cheeks and she reeked of smoke. Kurt waited awkwardly for her to catch her breath, until she finally choked out one word,

"Blaine."

Kurt crumpled.

* * *

><p>Blaine had no way to tell how much time had passed. Everything alternated between black and blinding white. When he awoke again, everything tasted like blood and smoke.<p>

Sorting out his thoughts was nearly impossible, but his gut told him he was in trouble. He tried to push through the murky confusion and the searing pain to figure out where he was and how to get out. He tried turning his head to look to his left, and it hurt like hell. He could make out crumbled stone, bits of glass, smoke.

_What happened?_

Blaine tried to shift his body but was met with excruciating pain; hot and fierce. He almost lost consciousness when he realized where it was coming from. He was buried from the waist down in rubble. But just above that, he could see the neck of his guitar sticking out of his stomach at an awkward angle.

The sight of it jerked Blaine into remembrance. Of course.

He remembered that he had been performing, that he had been with Cecily and Ray. That they had seen the plane, right before it crashed into the skyscraper above them.

But how? How was he alive? He didn't understand how he could have survived the falling rubble.

He was struck by the thought that maybe he wasn't alive.

He was surrounded by smoke, and rock.

_Fire and brimstone_

But no. There was too much pain, too much blood. He was definitely alive.

_For now_

With the realization that he was trapped, came panic. He needed to get out. He needed help. He was going to bleed to death. He couldn't die. Not before seeing Kurt again.

_Kurt_

The thought of Kurt's face renewed the panic inside him and he struggled against the rocks again. When he realized he was stuck, he tried to call out, but his voice was dead inside his throat. The smoke and the acrid tang of burnt flesh clogged his throat, making it impossible to call out for help.

He was buried alive.

_Kurt_

He just wanted to see Kurt again. He wanted to tell him he was sorry for pushing him, for trying to tell him what to do. He was so sorry for running away, for leaving him, for wasting what could have been their last night together.

He should have spent it with Kurt. They should have been snuggled up in bed together, twisted in the sheets, skin on skin, his forehead pressed against Kurt's, all arms and muscle and heat. He should have spent the night kissing his lips and whispering love into his chest and ears, he should have spent the night smelling and feeling and holding.

But he'd left.

And now, he might never see him again.

Blaine could feel the pain threatening to overtake him again, as salty tears trailed down his bloody face, stinging in the cuts and crevices. He struggled harder, hoping for just one last moment, maybe if he could hold on, they could at least say goodbye.

He turned to his right, trying to see if he could see an escape, a way out. But he was met with the face of another person. Blaine tried to scream but couldn't.

The person was dead.

And the face was familiar.

Ray.

* * *

><p>Kurt was sitting on the floor in front of Cecily, unmoving. He didn't know how much time had passed since she had knocked on the door, but they'd both remained immobile and silent since then. She stared down at him, barely blinking, seemingly in some sort of trance and he sat cross legged on the floor, unable to think or move or feel.<p>

He stayed silent for a while because he feared if he opened his mouth he would vomit, but once the feeling passed, he cleared his throat to speak,

"Tell me what happened."

His voice was stronger than he expected it to be, but it was also devoid of tone or feeling. Cecily was shaken from her trance by the sound of his voice and settled herself on the floor beside him. It didn't occur to either of them to move to a chair or the couch.

"He was playing down by the World Trade Center towers. We were just bumming around in front of the building. I left…I left him with Ray and when the plane hit…I…" she broke off, coughing violently in an attempt to disguise the tears in her voice.

Kurt surveyed the girl with mild interest, absent mindedly noting how strange the scene would have been under any other circumstances. He realized he had seen her with Blaine a few times before, in the early days of their relationship, but had never been formally introduced. She had always seemed stand-offish and distant and Kurt had never attempted to befriend her.

But here in this moment, sitting on the floor of his apartment with this teary, broken girl, Kurt felt close to her. Blaine had always spoken about Cecily like a little sister, and as Kurt clung to every word of her story he realized they had more in common than he might have thought.

They both loved Blaine.

"I ran back. I looked for them. But I couldn't find them. There was rubble everywhere. There were people everywhere; screaming, running. But I saw…"

She trailed off again and Kurt felt the urge to scream. He wanted to be patient with her, he studied her face and realized she couldn't be older than 18, but he needed to know, he needed to hear what she had seen.

"Cecily?" he prompted gently.

"His guitar. I saw his guitar. It was broken."

She began coughing again, clearing her throat gruffly. She seemed unable to cry in front of Kurt, or maybe unable to cry at all.

Kurt's eyelids felt heavy. He couldn't keep them open anymore. He dropped them, letting her words wash over him.

He lay back on the floor, letting the feeling of despair wash over him.

_How fucking unfair._

Of all the nights for Blaine to walk out. Of all the places in the city for him to be. Of all the moments to stand in that very spot. Of all the ways their story could have ended.

Why this?

He was irrationally angry with Blaine. How dare he, how dare he leave him. How dare he do this to him.

Kurt suddenly slammed his fists into the hardwood floor on either side of him. It stung, but he didn't care.

Why this.

Cecily shifted on the floor beside him, and he could hear her clicking her teeth. She was fidgeting; anxious.

"I need a cigarette. I need a whole fucking pack of cigarettes. I need to start my own tobacco farm. I need to annex a small South American country dedicated to rolling cigarettes for me. Fuck. I'll be back."

She got up and then turned around right before exiting, "I'll be back, okay? Don't do anything stupid."

It seemed to be her attempt at comfort. With that, she was gone.

Kurt was alone, and he felt it.

He stood up, and strode over to the window purposefully. He stared at the ring of black smoke on the distant horizon. He surveyed the city, realizing that of all the moments he had felt utterly and spectacularly alone in the metropolis, he had never experienced anything like this before.

"I love you." He whispered as he stared at the ugly, angry black smoke in the sky.

When the thick silence hung in the air and carried no reply, he repeated himself.

"I love you."

Silence.

He didn't know what he was expecting, but the ugliness of the unanswered declarations of love was too painful to bear.

"I love you!" his voice rose in volume each time he said it, more frantic and more broken.

He whirled around, looking around the apartment. His eyes rested on the canvas on the wall. It was the painting he had done, back when he had first met Blaine. Back when he had first started painting again. It was the scene from the lake, and at the center of the canvas, he had painted a little boat like the one he and Blaine had sat in on the lake in Central Park all those long months ago.

He hated it. It was taunting him. It was sitting there, smugly reminding him of all the beautiful times he and Blaine had spent together, and all the things they would never do again.

"I love you!" he repeated again frantically, waiting for an answer.

The painting mocked him.

"I love you, I love you, I love you!" he cried desperately, walking towards the painting in long strides. He stood in front of it, glaring at it, waiting for an answer that never came.

He reached up, unsure of what he was doing, but he desperately needed to do _something_. He ripped the canvas from the wall and threw it to the ground.

The painting landed with a resounding thunk, but he wasn't satisfied. He needed it to stop looking at him, he needed it to stop reminding him of Blaine. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes and he was angry with himself too. He didn't want to cry. He just needed it to stop.

He began to tear at the thick canvas with his hands. He repeated under his breath a thousand times, "I love you, I love you, I love you…" until he was crying too hard to continue, and he was left gasping for breath as the tears streamed down his face and his hands continued to rip up the canvas.

The thick material cut up his hands, but he didn't care as they started to bleed. He continued to destroy the painting.

When he was satisfied with its destruction, he turned to his wooden easel, a half completed painting perched jauntily upon it. It was mocking him as well.

Gasping for air and shaking with sobs, Kurt threw that canvas onto the ground as well. As it flew across the room, the canvas knocked over a glass vase, sending it shattering to the ground in shards. He then kicked over the easel, stomping on the wooden frame with his feet, feeling the wood splinter and dig into his bare heels.

It hurt, and he was bleeding, but he didn't care. It felt good to destroy the paintings. They only served as a reminder of what Blaine had given him. Maybe, if he could go back to a time before he started painting again, he could go back to a time before Blaine, before this, a time before everything hurt.

The stupid paintings had been the reason they'd been fighting anyway. Blaine had just wanted him to pursue his goddamned painting. If it wasn't for them, Blaine never would have left. He would there, in Kurt's arms.

Shaking, he fell down into the mess of wood, canvas and glass, letting the sobs wrack his body.

"I love you" he whispered one last time into the empty silence.

No one answered.


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hello beautiful readers! So this is the last chapter of Towers. I will post an epilogue shortly too. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed, you've all kept me going and your kind words mean everything to me. PS: The song used in the end of the chapter is Taylor Swift's Safe and Sound for anyone who didn't know. **

**Chapter 11**

"You can't smoke those in here." Rachel snapped at Cecily from where she was sitting, bandaging Kurt's hands.

"Sister, the whole city's going up in flames, you really think this makes a difference?" Cecily replied, staring out at the city from the open window.

"As a matter of fact," Rachel began but Kurt cut her off.

"Let her smoke, Rachel." He said quietly.

He could feel Rachel looking at him skeptically for a moment before she decided to let it go. It was a day to pick your battles.

"I want to go back." Cecily said suddenly, lighting up another cigarette and pacing in front of the window.

Kurt thought she looked like a caged animal. She was pacing in front of the window, her long stringy hair swishing back and forth as she walked.

"You can't go back there, that's insane. It's dangerous and it's chaotic. You have to let the police and firefighters do their job." Rachel supplied, dabbing ointment on the cuts on Kurt's hands.

"It's insane _not _to go back, cat lady!"

Kurt snorted in spite of himself. Cecily hadn't paid attention to Rachel's introduction when she had burst into the apartment earlier, a whirl of panic and high pitched noises. She had simply deduced that Rachel looked like a cat lady and referred to her as such for the rest of the afternoon.

"The firefighters, they're trying to save _thousands _of people. We're only looking for two."

"We can't be rash. This is a time of crisis and as much as I love Blaine, we can't do anything for him." Rachel glanced nervously at Kurt as she said this.

Kurt knew she had been looking at him like he was a ticking time bomb since the moment she had walked in. She took one look at the destroyed paintings and the broken glass and had shaken her head. She'd coaxed him into letting her fix up his hands, but she was treating him as if he might go off again at any moment.

Truthfully, Kurt didn't trust himself. He felt unstable.

"What are you implying?" Cecily roared, outraged.

"You said so yourself! They were right there. I'm just saying that the chances are that they…I mean…there's nothing more we can…" Rachel cringed as she trailed off.

"So we should just sit here with our hands up our asses waiting for them to be delivered in body bags?"

"No!" she cried, tears falling fast down her cheeks again. She had barely stopped crying since the minute she entered the apartment. "No, don't say that, I just…we have to be patient."

Cecily cried out and threw her arms up in frustration.

"This is fucking stupid. I'm going to look for them. We know exactly where they were, I know exactly where the guitar was."

Kurt, who had remained silent and still for most of their argument suddenly spoke up.

"I'm coming with you." He pulled away from Rachel's fussing fingers.

Both women stopped bickering to stare at him. It was if they had forgotten he was there.

Rachel regained her composure first.

"Kurt, sweetheart, please, I know you're upset, but you're really not in a state to go anywhere," she began.

Cecily nodded, "You should stay here…in case he comes home."

_Great, now they decide to agree on something_, Kurt thought as he pulled himself off the couch on shaky legs.

"No. I need to find him. I need to find Blaine."

"Kurt, you're shaking, you can barely stand, you can't go out there." Cecily supplied, more gently than Kurt had ever heard her speak.

He was certain though. "I need to find Blaine."

"Honey," Rachel began, reaching for him.

"I need to find Blaine, I need to find him!" Kurt repeated again, more frantic and desperate to make them understand. They needed to understand.

"Okay, okay." Said Cecily, "But listen, Kurt, you realize there we may never find him, and you realize that there's a chance that if we do find him, he may not be…" she trailed off uneasily.

"I need to find Blaine," Kurt repeated.

"Dead or alive."

With that, Rachel seemed to give up. She agreed to stay at the apartment while Cecily and Kurt went back to the site of the attack.

She clutched Kurt tight to her chest as they prepared to venture out into the city, and he wasn't sure if she was going to let go.

"Be careful okay? I'll be here when you get back…no matter what."

Kurt nodded, ignoring the implications of what she was saying the best he could.

He felt numb and sick as they ventured out onto the street, but he was relieved to be doing something.

Outside, the city was transformed.

It wasn't visible or tangible, but the atmosphere had shifted subtlety. People were stopped in the streets in clumps, talking and staring at the sky.

Traffic was stopped dead in the streets and Kurt could feel the claustrophobia in the air. It was if the city had stopped to hold its breath and had yet to let it out.

He and Cecily walked quickly, realizing that the shut down subways and the traffic in the streets meant that walking was probably their best option.

They didn't speak; there was nothing to say.

As they made their way through the crowded streets he hummed softly under his breath. It helped to keep the panic at bay.

His mind fixated on that day he had brought Blaine home from the park; frozen and shaking. He focused on the memory of their bodies pressed together in the bed, on the dark birth mark on the base of Blaine's neck.

He remembered running his fingers over the mark, enthralled by the dark patch of soft skin. He remembered placing his lips on it, kissing it, sucking gently and feeling Blaine arch into the touch.

It was what he focused on as they walked. It was the biggest piece of Blaine he could think about without losing it. He couldn't think about his face, or his chest, or the rest of his body without panicking.

_I need to find him. _

Kurt didn't even realize that they were approaching the scene until Cecily took his shoulder and steered him towards the spot where it had happened.

Kurt couldn't take in everything that was happening. There were sirens and shouting everywhere; the sounds of crackling and burning filled the air.

Everywhere he looked was heavy with smoke and people; firefighters and police, flashing lights and screaming people.

But the worst was the bodies.

Kurt realized in that moment that he'd never seen a dead body before.

Everywhere he looked, firefighters were pulling people from the rubble. Kurt couldn't see a single person who'd survived.

Cecily made an odd choking noise beside him which made Kurt turn to look at her.

"What are we doing here?" she whispered, never taking her eyes off the rows of bodies.

Kurt only shook his head mutely.

So much death.

Cecily started scanning the bodies, searching. But they couldn't get close enough to really be able to see anything. The police were keeping people far away. Besides that, some of the bodies were so badly burned, so badly broken that Kurt couldn't even tell whether they were male or female, let alone if one of them was Blaine.

What would he do if one of those mangled corpses belonged to Blaine? His Blaine.

"I can't…" he began, turning away from the horrible sight.

"Kurt," Cecily grabbed his arm.

"I can't, I can't,"

"Kurt, wait. Look." Cecily grabbed him and pointed to where a couple of firefighters were pulling bodies from the wreckage.

Covered in blood, bruised and broken, it was undoubtedly Blaine.

* * *

><p>Blaine stopped trying.<p>

Ray was dead. He was surrounded by corpses. The pain was too much. He couldn't breathe. So he stopped trying to. He had wanted to see Kurt one last time. He wanted to say I'm sorry. He wanted to say I love you. He wanted to say goodbye. But he could feel the smoke clogging up his lungs. He could feel the blood draining from his body. He could feel himself giving up.

Blaine tried to hold on, he did. But there only so much pain, only so much hurt and fear that he could take.

Maybe if he closed his eyes, just for a moment, he could see Kurt again. Kurt's face was burned onto the inside of his eyelids.

Everything started to get brighter, and he felt as if the weight of the rubble was being lifted off his chest.

_This is it, the end._

* * *

><p>Kurt didn't know how they managed to fight through the crowds towards where the firefighters were laying out the bodies and paramedics were checking people for signs of life. But they did, and soon he and Cecily fell to their knees in front of Blaine. Kurt swallowed thickly, trying to keep the bile from rising in his throat.<p>

Blaine was drenched in blood. His face was a mess of dirt and blood, caked and burned. Kurt reached him first, pulling the broken, bloody body into his arms. Blaine's head flopped against his chest and Kurt let out a strangled cry.

"Blaine! Blaine, no, _no." _

Cecily was shouting beside him,"Help! We need help!"

Kurt pulled Blaine closer to him, ignoring the blood all over his hands and clothes. He just needed Blaine as close as he could. He wound his hands into Blaine's hair and pulled him into his chest, sobbing.

"Blaine, please, no. Please, I need you. I need you."

"Please don't leave me, I love you, I love you, I'm so sorry, _please_."

Blaine remained motionless, limp. His eyes were shut and Kurt struggled to feel breath in his chest but he couldn't. Kurt was vaguely aware that he was screaming, but did nothing to stop. He felt like he was no longer inside his body. All he wanted was for Blaine to open his eyes.

Holding Blaine's cold body in his arms, he thought back again to the last time he had held Blaine like this. Blaine had been dying then too, but Kurt had saved him with the warmth of his body. Maybe he could do it again. He clutched desperately at Blaine's back and hair, trying hopelessly to transfer some of his own life into the cold body.

Unaware of his own actions, Kurt pulled back the bloody collar of Blaine's shirt to reveal the dark birthmark over his neck. Shaking, tears falling onto Blaine's burnt skin, Kurt bent down and placed his lips over the mark and whispered against his neck,

"Just close your eyes,"

His hot breath against Blaine's skin turned into shaky song. He was at a loss for what else to do. It felt like the only thing he could offer in this moment was a few last notes for the boy who had sang to him in the park.

_Don't you dare look out your window darling  
>Everything's on fire<em>

The sound of sirens wailed around him.

_The war outside our door keeps raging on  
>Hold onto this lullaby<em>

Cecily was yelling for help.

_Even when the music's gone_

Kurt choked on his words.

_Just close your eyes_

He ran his fingers over Blaine's long eyelashes.

_The sun is going down_

_You'll be alright_

_No one can hurt you now_

_Come morning light, _

He wrapped his arms tighter around Blaine, searching for a heartbeat he couldn't find.

_You and I'll be_

_Safe_

_And_

_Sound_


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_September 2002 _

Kurt took a sip from his coffee mug and wrinkled his nose when he realized the liquid inside was ice cold.

He quickly set the cup down and turned back to the canvas in front of him. He pursed his lips as he surveyed the half completed face. Something about the painting was off, but he couldn't quite place it.

Maybe it was the nose.

He looked over to his workbench, analyzing the photographs he was using as reference to paint he face in front of him.

It was definitely the nose.

He sighed in frustration, setting down his brush and stretching out his hands gently. Maybe he just needed a break. He wiped his hands on an oily rag and strolled back to the front of the gallery. It was empty, as it had been most of the day, with only a few patrons wandering in to appreciate the paintings that covered every wall of the small art gallery on the Upper West Side.

The big open windows at the front let sunlight stream in and allowed a view of the west side of Central Park in the warm September weather. He looked over each painting as he walked by it, strangely comforted by the rows of faces he had painted and hung up in the gallery.

But one in particular stopped him in his tracks.

He often found himself staring at this face in particular, one he knew so well and so intimately. He lost himself in the lines of the face, not even noticing when the bell on the door jingled, announcing the entrance of a customer.

He let his eyes wander over the long eyelashes and settle on the tea coloured eyes. He followed the line of each dark curl of hair, and across every laugh line in the faintly olive skin.

His reached up to rest his fingers on the full lips of the face and looked into the eyes of the painting again. He had painted them sparkling, and even now, he could see the laughter in his eyes.

Kurt was so enthralled by the beautiful face that he startled when a voice broke into his thoughts.

"Did you have to make my eyebrows quite so triangular?"

A pair of warm, strong arms had wrapped themselves around his waist from behind and Kurt laughed when he heard the familiar voice whisper into his neck.

"I was merely maintaining artistic integrity. Don't blame the painter because your eyebrows look like they walked out of a bag of Doritos and onto your face."

He turned into the arms, laughing as Blaine attempted to look offended.

"How's my very own Picasso today?" Blaine asked, kissing Kurt before he had a chance to answer.

Kurt hummed into his mouth, "Mmm, good now that you're here. How was school?"

"I think it's safe to say I could now recite Mozart's entire requiem in Latin in my sleep."

"Good to know you're learning useful things in college." Kurt smirked, rubbing circles into the small of Blaine's back.

"I'm a music student, I think learning anything useful would defeat the purpose." Blaine kissed him again, sucking on Kurt's bottom lip as he pulled away.

"How about you? Making good progress?" Blaine asked, gesturing to the paintings on the walls.

Kurt sighed heavily, "I could paint for my entire life and probably never do enough."

"That's not true." Blaine said quietly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of Kurt's eyes. "You've done more than anyone could have ever asked for."

Kurt nodded and his eyes wandered back to the faces hung up on the wall. Each canvas was filled with a faithful depiction of the faces of one of the victims of the September 11th attacks. Kurt had never planned for the project to get this big; it had all started when Blaine had been in the hospital.

It had been a torturous few weeks of teetering on the edge of not knowing whether he would make it, weeks of sitting by Blaine's bedside, holding his hands and brushing away stray hairs from his bruised face. So Kurt had found a way to occupy his hands, his mind, a way to soothe himself.

He had picked up the brushes Blaine had given them and hadn't put them down since.

It started with Blaine's face; laughing, bright, beautiful, based off an old photograph Kurt had taken in Central Park.

The process of nursing Blaine back to health had been slow and painful, and Kurt continued painting. The faces of the other victims of the attacks haunted him when he saw them on the news, the family's grief stricken faces when they were interviewed. Kurt knew that not everyone had been so lucky.

So he contacted a few families. Asked if they wanted a painting. He gathered pictures of their faces, happier times, and slowly began to pay tribute to the people of New York who lost their lives on that terrible day.

Things snowballed from there, and soon the mayor caught wind of what Kurt was doing and before either he or Blaine could blink, the city had set Kurt up with his own gallery in Manhattan; an artistic tribute to the victims of 9/11.

Kurt's train of thought was interrupted when Blaine placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Where did you just go?" he asked.

"Nowhere. I'm right here with you." Kurt smiled, lacing his fingers through Blaine's.

"Good." he replied, the scruff on his neck scratching at Kurt's face.

The gallery was quiet, and they took the opportunity to sit in the chairs they had outside in front of the gallery window. They sat facing the park, looking into the greenery and letting the September rays of sun warm their faces.

Blaine linked his hand loosely around Kurt's and they sat in easy silence, letting the sounds of the city wash over them.

"Batman or Spiderman?" Blaine asked.

"You know, there's this saying and it says "silence is golden", have you ever heard of it?"

"I'd say Spiderman, because he has actual powers. Batman just had a bunch of high tech gadgets like the Batmobile."

"Obviously not." Kurt muttered under his breath.

"Finding Nemo or Emperor's New Groove?"

Kurt raised his eyebrow at his boyfriend. "Really? Do you remember how much I balled when we watched Finding Nemo?"

"Good point, Nemo it is."

Kurt laughed and they lapsed into silence once again. He looked over at Blaine who seemed to have given up on their game because he was lost in thought.

"What are you thinking about now?" Kurt finally caved when Blaine had been silent for an uncharacteristically long time.

Blaine hummed, closing his eyes for a moment and soaking in the sun. He shuffled his chair closer to Kurt's and placed a warm kiss on Kurt's cheek before answering.

"It's strange to think about all the moments that led us to this one, you know? Like, even the bad things in our lives, eventually seem to lead to good things it seems. If I had never run away from home, I never would have met people like Cecily and…Ray…" Blaine's voice cracked a little over the name and Kurt rubbed a hand reassuring against his back.

"And if I had never been with Nathan and then homeless, and playing in the park, I never would have met you."

Kurt studied Blaine's expression. He looked lost in thought. He had moments like this sometimes since the attacks. He was a little less bright, a little more thoughtful. But he still was, thankfully, endearingly, heartbreakingly _Blaine. _

"And I'm not saying that, those were good things, or that I still don't wish they never happened, but it's kind of a comforting thought when you realize that even with so much death, so much tragedy, the world still picks itself up and goes on."

Kurt nodded. "If you had never gotten hurt, I probably never would have quit my job. I wouldn't have the gallery, and everything I ever dreamed of."

"Exactly. I never would have got to go to college. It seems selfish to say it like that, when so many people were devastated by what happened that day but…"

A bird chirped in the tree beside them.

"I don't think we're meant to understand it, honey." Kurt supplied when Blaine trailed off and didn't speak again.

Blaine smiled sweetly, running a thumb against Kurt's cheekbone. "No. We probably won't ever understand it. But, god, it's amazing to think that out of all the bad things we've been through, we've finally found-"

As Kurt savoured the lingering sweetness of Blaine's lips on his own, he knew exactly how to finish his sentence. The pleasant swelling in his chest as his finger's registered Blaine's steady heartbeat against his palm could only be described by one word,

"Happiness."

_**The End**_

_****_**A/N: Haha! Jokes's on you. You all really thought I would kill Blaine? My sweetie pie Blaine? Naaah. Well anyway, this is the real end this time. Bless all of you for taking time to review, every one of your reviews made me so happy and motivated me to keep going. I'm so glad that I could bring just a little bit of enjoyment into your lives with something I wrote. Happy trails readers! **_  
><em>


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